


Loneliness as a Human Condition

by SwimmingSwans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Best Friends, First Time, Flirting, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 75,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwimmingSwans/pseuds/SwimmingSwans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John said he'd be gone for the entire academic year, but Dean gives it two, maybe three months, tops. If John really is embarking on a dangerous hunt he's going to want Dean by his side, right? Uncle Bobby may be awesome, but the rest of Sioux Falls is Snoozeville. Dean's so desperate for some relief from all of this... ordinariness, he's yet to do something about his stalker, Weird Trench Coat Kid.<br/>Castiel claims to be "a regular adolescent human male," but Sam's not convinced. There's something strange about the way he stares at Dean. There's something even stranger about the way Dean's started staring back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August, September & October

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been playing around with this for a while, and when I realized I had over 60k words written I figured I might as well start posting.

 

Dean Winchester is a good son. He takes care of his brother, and he never gives his father any backtalk. He never complains about spending his Friday nights digging up graves and burying bodies. He never once wishes he were a normal kid with a normal life.

It’s the final week of August when John Winchester parks the Impala outside Bobby Singer’s house and tells his boys to get out and unpack (your _clothes_ , Dean, not your guns). Sam finds these orders agreeable, which is surprising yet not completely unexpected. Having finally entered his teenage years, Sam has become moody and rebellious. Lately he does this whole “pouty bitch face” routine whenever John tries to tell him what to do. But Uncle Bobby spoils John’s sons. He lets them eat ice cream in their pajamas, he’ll play catch with them in the yard, and he doesn’t care if they sleep until noon. Sam is probably excited to spend a weekend at Bobby’s because, for them, a weekend at Bobby’s house is like a weekend at a beach resort in Cancun.

But it’s not a weekend. Dean feels like someone pulled the floor out from under his feet when his dad breaks the news.

He’s leaving without them.

Instead of unpacking, John transfers all of his belongings from the Impala into an unfamiliar car. He announces that he won’t be staying long and plans on hitting the road before sunset. When Dean asks how long he’ll be gone, John promises that he’ll try to be back in time to see Dean graduate in June.

This is all kinds of wrong, and Dean doesn’t even know where to start.

Dean is a _hunter_. He’s never been a student. He doesn’t care about getting a high school diploma or finding a date to the senior prom. If John is leaving them with Bobby then he must truly be worried. He must be trying to protect them. But if John is going on a dangerous hunt and doesn’t plan on returning any time soon why wouldn’t he want Dean by his side?

But Dean knows better than to question the will of his father.

Before John leaves he tells Dean to stay out of trouble, listen to Uncle Bobby, and, most importantly, to look out for his brother.

Sam is indifferent to John’s departure, whereas Dean sulks for an entire week.

And then one night before turning in, Bobby tosses Dean a set of car keys and reminds him that tomorrow is the first day of school.

Dean chooses to believe that John left the Impala at Bobby’s because he feels guilty for ditching them. Sam gets this morbid look in his eyes whenever anyone mentions the car, and Dean’s torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to slap him across the face. But, regardless of whatever reasons John had for leaving it, Dean is grateful. The Impala is more then just a car, even when the trunk isn’t full of rock salt and wooden stakes.

 

 

It amuses Dean to no end that Sam still gets the first day jitters. This year Dean gets to witness the full extent of Sam’s insanity because they’ll finally be at the same school, Sam as a freshman and Dean as a senior. Usually Dean skips out on the redundant “transfer student orientation” meetings, but with Sam looking downright twitchy, Dean doesn’t have the heart to leave.

The two brothers, along with a few other new students, are forced to spend an hour before the start of class, listening to a teacher droning on about rules and conduct. Dean doesn’t pay attention. The only rules he respects are his father’s, and John would never punish him for running in the hallway or chewing gum in class.

Sam’s sitting in the adjacent row, one seat up. He looks bored, but Dean can tell he’s still listening. The kid is completely backward and seems to think that a teacher’s approval is more important than Dad’s. Dean is hoping that’s just a phase too. Despite his father’s words, Dean suspects that they aren’t really in Sioux Falls for the long haul. John will be back for them soon.

Dean would be content to spend the rest of the class period fantasizing about getting the hell out of this prison, but there’s a strange boy sitting next to him who’s making it impossible to zone out. He’s a distraction. Dean’s only partial to one kind of distraction, and teenage boys in trench coats don’t really do it for him.

If Dean had to wager a guess he’d say that this is the first time the kid’s ever stepped foot inside a public school. He’s an outsider; an unapologetic outsider who knows perfectly well that he doesn’t belong. After spending almost a decade of his life hunting down monsters in disguise, Dean knows a deviant when he sees one.

It looks like the guy’s wearing a suit and tie under his coat, which might suggest prep school reject, but he’s looking a little shabby for a rich boy. Dean’s picked up on a different vibe and he’s going to go ahead and call it now:

The kid’s a freak and he’s gonna get his ass kicked.

Poor guy was probably homeschooled by new age, crunchy granola, Mom, and alternative lifestyle Dad. He’s probably a vegan, or maybe a communist. His hair is a little Trotsky-like. He might not own a hairbrush. New age Mom probably bought him some sort of fair trade, wooden rake tool, and he’s forced to use that or his fingers. Alternative lifestyle Dad probably told him to dress outlandishly to preserve his individuality. It’s like some parents actually _want_ their kids to be social pariahs.

Dean’s never stuck around long enough to invest in the social hierarchy. He only seeks companionship for one reason, and the girls flock to him regardless of his attitude. Bullies seem to know better than to mess with him, and outcasts are usually too intimidated to even look his way.

But there’s something distinctly off about this space cadet sitting next to him. He’s definitely the type to go looking for trouble. Dean doesn’t know why the boy keeps staring at him with these enormous, blue eyes, but it’s creepy and he wants it to stop.

So when the teacher leaves to retrieve the school maps she left in her office, Dean decides to politely tell the kid to cut it out.

“Hey,” he says, turning to face the strange boy. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to stare?”

The boy doesn’t reply. Instead, he tilts his head to the side and gives Dean a curious look. Dean tries to match the stare, but the boys gaze is unwavering, as if he doesn’t ever feel the need to blink. Dean’s competitive by nature, but he knows when to give in. He doesn’t want to deal with the school weirdo having an awkward crush on him, so he needs to take care of this now before it gets out of hand.

“Look, Columbo,” Dean tries again. “I’m flattered and all, but you’re not really my type, okay?”

The boy blinks finally, as if waking from a trance. “Columbo?” he echoes, his voice like wet gravel. “What’s a Columbo?”

“It’s a name,” Dean tells him. “Columbo’s the name of that goofy detective on TV. You know, the one who wears a trench coat and smokes cigars?”

“But my name is Castiel.” The boy glances down at his clothes and then back up at Dean. “And this is an overcoat.”

New age parents, Dean’s certain now.

He feels sorry for the kid. Even if he changes his clothes and stops looking at Dean like Dean’s Jane to his Tarzan, his name is still going to be _Castiel_. Giving your kid a dopey name like that should be considered child-abuse. John isn’t the world’s greatest dad, but at least he didn’t saddle his sons with cringe-worthy names.

Sam turns around, apparently no longer satisfied with just eavesdropping. “Castiel is an unusual name,” he comments, because he can’t seem to help butting in on other people’s conversations.

“It’s the name of an angel,” Castiel says, and Dean can’t fathom why he sounds proud, because really it’s just another nail in the coffin.

But Sam seems oblivious too, because all he does is nod and smile and tell him with startling sincerity that this is in fact, “cool.”

Then Castiel’s face screws up into an expression that’s either a forced smile or a pained grimace. He’s got these high, pronounced cheekbones that make it hard to decipher the difference, and Dean doesn’t think it’s worth the effort to try.

“I’m not an angel, of course,” Castiel assures them. “I’m a regular adolescent human male like yourselves.”

“Sure you are.” Dean doesn’t bother hiding his sarcasm because he doubts the kid will pick up on it. “You got a last name?”

This time his frown is unambiguous. “No,” he replies. “Should I?”

Dean’s mouth quirks in annoyance. “How am I supposed to know?” he asks. “It’s your name!”

“Surnames are a modern concept,” Castiel informs both Dean and Sam. “The tradition has been a part of western civilization for only two millennia, so for the vast majority of human existence, most people have had a single name. Therefore ‘Castiel’ should be a sufficient moniker as is.”

“I think you’re right.” Sam smiles politely. “It’s a very unique name so I doubt there’d ever be any confusion.”

“Hey,” Dean chimes in. “It’s a free country. Call yourself whatever name you want.”

At this Castiel looks taken aback. “My father bestowed this name unto me. How could I ever wish for another?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” Dean asks.

“Actually – ” Castiel starts.

“It was a rhetorical question, man,” Dean interrupts. “You don’t answer rhetorical questions.”

Fortunately, the teacher’s reappearance cuts their conversation short, and Dean is saved from having to speak with him again.

 

 

Dean has six classes and Castiel is in every one of them.

 

 

“I think you might have a stalker,” Sam announces two weeks later on the ride home from school.

“A stalker? Who’d want to stalk me?”

Sam sighs (Sam’s been sighing a lot lately). “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb.”

“Castiel is _not_ stalking me,” Dean says firmly. “I don’t know why everyone keeps saying that.”

Carmen had been the first to notice. Dean really liked her. They don’t share any classes, but her locker is next to his, so it’s probably a good thing they never made it past second base. She was wholesome and low-maintenance, a rare combination that made her much too good for him. When she broke things off she said it wasn’t personal, she just wasn’t an exhibitionist and couldn’t deal with their third wheel. She couldn’t deal with Castiel.

This kid is turning out to be a _major_ cockblock. Dean hasn’t been able to score any alone time with a girl because Dean can’t score any alone time period. When Dean’s in class, Castiel’s in class. When Dean’s with a girl out back behind the bleachers, Castiel is sitting on a bench just a few yards away. If Dean’s trying to get some in the Impala, Castiel is taking a leisurely stroll through the parking lot. No matter where he goes or what he does he just can’t seem to shake him, and every time Dean tries to confront him he seems to vanish.

“He _watches_ you,” Sam tells him. “If he’s not staring off into space he’s staring at you. It’s not normal.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?” Dean knows he’s a good-looking guy, and he’s had more than his fair share of admirers. He’s almost certain that some of those admirers have been dudes, but he’s never cared. Dean’s only ever been pursued by women. He’s not sure how to handle Weird Trench Coat Kid’s big gay crush. “I already told him that I’m not interested.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Dean. I just think it’s about time someone told you that, despite what you may think, you’re not actually god’s gift to women… and uh, certain men, I guess…”

“I never said I was! And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might be, I don’t know… evil?”

Dean snorts. “Castiel? Evil? Really? I swear I saw him frolicking with butterflies on the football field last week.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, no, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

“What if he’s a demon?” Sam presses. “Or some kind of monster, maybe? There’s something really off about him. You shouldn’t ignore it.”

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean’s grip tightens around the steering wheel. “I don’t want to break the poor kid’s heart.”

“If you don’t figure this out soon I’m going to tell Uncle Bobby.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Like Bobby gives a damn about who’s hot for me.” Hopefully the snitching is just a phase too.

“What about dad then?” Sam asks.

“What about him?”

“What would dad do in your position?

Dean doesn’t reply. Dean doesn’t need to reply. They both know what John would do, and it really pisses Dean off that Sam’s the one who has to remind him.

 

 

Dean hates having to stay behind after the bell rings and class is dismissed, but if he wants to talk with Castiel privately he doesn’t really have a choice. Castiel takes _forever_ to pack up his school supplies and get ready to leave. The kid has about a million pens and pencils that he keeps sharpened and uncapped and ready for use. It’s kind of hilarious to watch him scurry to put them all away.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, acknowledging the fact that Dean’s hovering by his side and that they’re the only ones left in the room. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since orientation.

“You can take your time,” Dean tells him. “There’s a substitute in math class today, so I figure if the teacher doesn’t show up, why should we?”

“Because truancy is a punishable offence, and as students it is our responsibility to-”

“Alright, alright I get it,” Dean cuts in. “You memorized the student manual. Good for you.”

“Rules are important,” Castiel says quietly once he’s all packed up and ready to go.

No, they’re not. Rules are, for the most part, arbitrary and a pain in the ass. Still, he’s not surprised to hear that Castiel doesn’t feel the same way. The guy has a pocket bible. A _pocket bible._ Dean doesn’t want to even imagine what the kid’s homelife must be like. Having religious nuts for parents sounds way worse than being stuck with new age hippies.

“I’m going outside,” Dean says, “because I don’t give a crap about truancy. And we both know you’ll be watching me whether I stay or go, so you can either hurry on up to math and try to get a window seat, or leave with me now. Your choice.”

“I’ll go with you,” Castiel says without even a moment’s hesitation. He gives Dean the strangest look of incredulity, like he can’t believe Dean would even suggest otherwise.

 

 

“I’m not supposed to consume alcoholic beverages,” Castiel says when Dean offers him the flask. “I’m only eighteen.”

That’s not really a problem because it’s not alcohol in the flask.

“Lighten up, Cas,” Dean tells him. “A few sips won’t hurt you.”

Unless he’s being possessed by a demon.

“Ethyl alcohol is poison. A few sips might not hurt _me_ , but at the rate you’re going it will destroy your brain and liver. I don’t know why anyone would drink ethanol and I don’t understand why the law doesn’t prohibit consumption entirely. It’s harmful to both the individual and society.”

“Hey, it’s my brain and my liver. If I want to destroy them, ain’t no one gonna stop me. Haven’t you ever heard of free will?”

“I have, indeed, heard of free will, but that doesn’t explain why a person would voluntarily ingest a substance that they know to be harmful.”

Dean should have paid more attention in middle school health class. Maybe then he’d know a thing or two about peer pressuring a dweeb like Castiel into taking drugs.

“What are you afraid of?” Dean asks. If Castiel were anyone else Dean would make clucking noises and call him a chicken, but, again, this is Castiel – he’d probably take it literally.

“Afraid of?” If Castiel isn’t a demon then he must be parrot. All he ever does tilt his head, stare blankly, and echo Dean’s words.

“Yeah, are you freakin out because it’s dangerous or because it’s against the law? What are you more afraid of – getting hurt or breaking the rules?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Rules are important.”

If Castiel’s not a demon and not a parrot then he’s probably a robot. It’s like he was _programed_ to recite that bullshit. Regardless, Dean’s done playing these games, and it’s time to get the show on the road. He doesn’t want to give Castiel the wrong idea.

Dean holds out the flask again. “Either drink it or leave. I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.”

“Very well,” Castiel says after a beat of silence. He cautiously accepts the flask and brings it to his lips.

Dean isn’t expecting Castiel to turn into a hissing, black-eyed, monster, but he still breathes a tiny sigh of relief when he doesn’t. In fact, the guy seems to _enjoy_ the holy water, and what starts as a shy sip soon becomes several large gulps.

 So not a demon then. That only leaves big gay crush.

“Not bad, right?” Dean asks. He smiles, finding himself amused by the bewildered look on Castiel’s strange face.

“No.” He stares down at the flask for a solid minute before handing it back to Dean. “What… what was in that? I found it to be quite… pleasant, actually.”

“I wish I could tell you,” Dean says, thinking fast. “But it’s kind of my family’s secret recipe.”

“Oh.” Castiel smiles hesitantly. “Well thank you for sharing your drink with me, Dean.”

Shit. Dean’s getting the distinct impression that this all means something to the guy. Like there’s something special about hanging out with Dean behind the cafeteria next to the dumpsters. Castiel seems to be enjoying himself. It might even be the happiest Dean’s ever seen him. This is not what Dean wanted. Not at all.

“Why have you been following me?” he blurts out.

Castiel tilts his head slightly and gives Dean another one of those soul-searching stares. “Following you?”

“Yeah, man.” This time he refuses to let the stare get to him. “Everywhere I go you seem to pop up out of nowhere. It’s creepy. I want to know why you’re doing it, and I want it to stop.”

“My apologies.” Castiel quickly drops his gaze and purses his lips. “It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

Predictably, Dean feels like he just kicked a puppy in the face. “It’s fine,” he says gruffly, wishing he had Sam’s ability to sound reassuring. “Just… I like chicks, okay? I like big tits and long hair, so… you’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t understand.” Castiel says, looking genuinely confused. “Why would your sexual orientation matter to me?”

“Seriously?” Dean shakes his head. “Buddy, you gotta know that it doesn’t work that way. The feeling is _never_ going to be mutual.”                                                         

“I hadn’t thought…” Castiel makes a face like he just swallowed a bug. “My attention has obviously been…Zachariah failed to warn me…”

Babbling is never a good sign. Dean’s ready to pull the plug on this heart to heart. He feels bad about embarrassing the kid, and now that he’s made his feelings clear there’s no reason for this conversation to continue.

“Look, I take it back,” Dean says. “I don’t care why you’re doing it, I just want you to leave me alone. Find someone else to follow around, okay?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel says, wringing his hands like a nervous housewife. “I wasn’t aware that my behavior disturbed you.” He gives Dean a forced smile. “Please don’t worry. I will be careful not to bother you again.”

Dean has a sinking feeling that somehow this conversation just made things worse.

 

 

“He’s clean?” asks Sam.

Dean nods. “As far as I can tell, Weird Trench Coat Kid is just weird.”

Sam doesn’t look surprised, but neither does he look appeased. It could just be that he’s pissed at Dean for using up all the lettuce making a BLT. Apparently that lettuce was for salads. _Salads_. Now he’s watching Dean wash dishes, eyeing the grease from the bacon he fried as if it were blood from the family pet he slaughtered. What if the bitch face _isn’t_ a phase?

“People are talking about him,” Sam says, reluctantly accepting a dripping plate and a dishtowel.

“I know.”

How could they not? The guy’s a nerd. He lugs every single one of his textbooks to every single one of his classes. He takes crazy diligent notes in the thickest notebook Dean has ever seen. He’s like a machine. Dean’s surprised his arm hasn’t fallen off.

And if being a total weirdo and a nerd wasn’t bad enough, the guy’s like a puritan or something. When Andy Gallagher, resident stoner, asked if he could borrow his notes to study for the upcoming biology test, Castiel allegedly refused and spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince Andy to “let god into his heart” and pray for the strength to become a better student.

“Is what they’re saying true?” Sam asks after a quite moment.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Dean replies. “People say a lot about him.

“Did he really staple his math homework to his tie?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that was an accident.”

“And the frogs?”

“What frogs?”

“The ones juniors were supposed to dissect in bio. He set them all free, right?”

“Are you kidding me? Just the thought of doing something that rebellious would probably give him a heart attack! Besides, the frogs they dissect in lab have already been put out of their misery.

“Does he really have a pocket bible?”

“I think so. I’ve never seen it myself, but a lot of other people have.

“The whole allegory thing? I heard that he spent an entire class period arguing with your English teacher about _Animal Farm_ , insisting that animals aren’t sentient and therefore can’t be communist.”

“Now _that_ was awesome,” Dean says, grinning at the memory. “I’m pretty sure after that our teacher spent her lunch break crying in her office. I can’t wait to see how he reacts to Vonnegut.”

“Really…” Sam muses, and Dean immediately has his guard up because Sam’s doing this whole smug, self-satisfied smirk thing that usually precedes a bout of snark.

Dean narrows his eyes and gives Sam a warning look. “Yeah, really.”

“You know,” Sam starts innocently, “it sounds to me like you’re _enjoying_ school.”

“Well, then you need to have your ears checked,” Dean practically growls. “Because I hate it.”

Sam looks doubtful. “I’m just telling it like I see it.”

“School is your thing, Sammy, not mine.”

“Sure, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say…”

Sam couldn’t be more wrong, of course. Dean doesn’t like school, and if he did (which he doesn’t) Castiel would have nothing to do with it.

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath, elbowing Sam in the arm.

“Jerk,” Sam counters, elbowing back.

 After that Dean can’t help smiling.

 

 

October is relatively uneventful.

John calls twice and both times refuses to tell Dean where he is or what he’s hunting. Sam just plain refuses to talk to him. Dean wants to throttle him for being such a drama queen, but he figures that Sam and John will have plenty of time to sort their shit out when John returns, hopefully sooner rather than later. Bobby just shakes his head and them and calls them idjits.

Bobby is kind of awesome.

John is always worrying about keeping his boys safe, and Dean knows that everything John does he does for them. Still, sometimes Dean feels like… he feels like…

Well, regardless of his feelings for John, Dean thinks Bobby is awesome. He knows everything there is to know about cars and monsters, and he lets Dean drink beer whenever he wants. Bobby buys vegetables just because he knows Sam likes them, and lately he’s been teaching Sam how to speak Japanese. It’s almost as if he _cares_ about their happiness.

Dean has a girlfriend now, a self-proclaimed girlfriend. Dean doesn’t really consider Lydia his girlfriend, because he doesn’t equate casual sex with a committed relationship. By Lydia’s standards, Lisa and Bela would also, _technically_ , be his girlfriends.

The only time Dean sees Castiel is during class. He still stares, and when Dean is feeling generous he flashes him a wink and a smile. It’s cool if he wants to pine for Dean, as long as he does so from afar and, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of Dean’s sex life.

Dean’s passing all of his classes. Sam, the little shit, mocks him for it, and Bobby rolls his eyes and calls them both idjits, but Dean knows it makes him a little bit proud.

There’s been no sign of any supernatural crime or mysteries in the entire state. School bullies avoid him. Nice, normal kids keep a polite distance. Most of his teachers don’t make a big deal out of it when he doesn’t show up to class.

Dean is so bored could cry.

 

Sam’s not surprised to see bags under his brother’s eyes when Dean finally emerges from his bedroom around lunchtime. Sam’s doing homework in the kitchen, but Dean either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Probably the latter.

“What happened to all the bacon?” Dean asks.

“No clue,” Sam replies.

“How long has this coffee been sitting here?”

“I don’t know. I don’t drink coffee.”

“Are these dishes clean?”

“Do they look clean?”

“Not really.”

“Then no.”

“Do we have a grocery list?”

“On the refrigerator door right in front of you.”

“ _Kale_? Who the hell wrote _kale_?”

Finally Sam heaves a frustrated sigh. “Do you mind, Dean?” he says. “I’m trying to do work.”

“So take a break,” Dean says flippantly. “Five minutes won’t kill you.”

Just because Dean is satisfied with mediocre grades doesn’t mean the rest of the world is too! Sam’s thinking long term. He wants to go to college and, knowing that he can’t rely on his dad for even a dime of financial support, he’s going to need scholarships. Schools don’t give full rides to kids who have GPAs below a 4.0.

“Fine,” Sam grumbles. It’s just not worth risking a fight.

Dean grins. “Atta boy, Sammy!” he says, hoisting himself up to sit on the kitchen countertop, forcing Sam to turn his chair to face him.

One of these days Sam’s going to snap and tell Dean how much he hates being called “Sammy.” The name is childish and condescending, but what annoys Sam the most is how it brings him comfort and makes him feel safe. He can still hear Dean’s voice in his mind – ‘ _It’s going to be okay, Sammy. I promise._ ’ or ‘ _Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m right here._ ’ and  ‘ _Please don’t be sad, Sammy. Dad’s not mad at you_.’ Back then he didn’t mind it so much, but he’s not a little kid anymore. He doesn’t need Dean babying him. Especially not now.

“You were out late last night,” Sam says, giving Dean a significant look.

“Aw, were you waiting up for me?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You were noisy coming back in. You weren’t drunk were you?”

“Hell no!” Dean says, sounding offended. “I drove last night. I would never disrespect my baby like that.”

Sam believes him. The Impala is like Dean’s security blanket.

“Where’d you go?” he asks.

“Party,” Dean replies.

“Yeah, I got that part. I was asking about the location.”

“A friend’s house.”

Sometimes Sam feels like Dean is the annoying younger brother in their relationship. He certainly acts like it.

“I don’t have time for this,” Sam tells Dean. “If you’re not going to be straight with me then go find someone else to bother. I have work to do.”

“Alright, Alright,” Dean says, putting his hands up defensively. “No need to get snippy. I was at Lisa’s house.”

Of course he was.

“Lisa as in Lisa Braeden, captain of the cheerleading squad?” Sam asks.

“Yep! And she’s real bendy.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and winks. “If you know what I mean.”

“Ugh,” Sam groans. “I did _not_ need to hear that.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked,” Dean retorts.

“What about that Lydia girl?”

Dean smirks. “Not as bendy as Lisa, but she’s got a real nice rack.”

Sooner or later Dean’s womanizing ways are going to land him in trouble, and when that day comes Sam won’t life a finger to help him. That’s what makes Sam a feminist and Dean a ladies’ man, or so he’d like to think.

“Stop being crass,” Sam says. “I thought Lydia was supposed to be your girlfriend.”

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Her words, not mine. Monogamy is for suckers, Sammy, remember that.”

For as long as Sam can remember his brother has been a pig, but he’s hoping that someday, for Dean’s sake, that’s going to change. He’s so protective over his memories of their mother and family is obviously important to him. Sam suspects that, deep down, Dean wants a wife and kids and that apple pie life. He’ll have to get his act together first.

“You know,” Sam starts, “we’re going to be here for a while. You might want to slow it down or you’ll run out of victims before dad gets back.”

“C’mon, Sam.” Dean scoffs. “You don’t really think Dad’s going to leave us here for that long, do you? I give it two, maybe three months tops.”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “He seemed pretty serious to me.”

Sam’s not surprised that Dean is having trouble coming to terms with their father’s prolonged absence. Without John barking orders at him 24/7 Dean has no purpose. He complains about Sioux Falls all the time, but Sam knows that his brother’s issues aren’t as superficial as they may seem. Dean might not even be aware of his own unhappiness. When he inevitably runs out of girls to mess around with he’s going to be unbearable.

“Dad needs us,” Dean says firmly. “He’ll be back soon.”

Sam seriously doubts it. John cut them loose. Dean and Sam were his tools but they were also his baggage. They were weighing him down and holding him back. John’s thirst for revenge is stronger than his love for his sons so he dumped them, plain and simple. Sam’s actually grateful, but he doesn’t think Dean share the sentiment.

“As far as I’m concerned, he did us a favor leaving us with Uncle Bobby,” Sam says honestly.

Dean gapes at him. “Don’t tell me that you actually like this place!”

“Maybe.” Sam shrugs. “It’s not that bad.”

“I mean, Bobby is awesome,” Dean concedes. “But he’s the exception. This town sucks; everything about it sucks. School is lame. The people here are lame. I just can’t wait to jet.”

Sam doesn’t understand why Dean can’t just admit that he’s lonely. With Dean, boredom is just a euphemism for loneliness. It worries Sam. If Dean’s wrong and John doesn’t show by Thanksgiving, Sam is legitimately afraid that his brother will have some sort of nervous breakdown or existential crisis.

“Have you even given them a chance?” Sam asks. “Most of my teachers are great and there are a lot of cool kids in my classes. I’m even considering signing up for the mock trial team.”

“The mock trial team?” Dean echoes. “Jesus Christ, Sammy.” Dean shakes his head. “Winchester men don’t join teams!”

Then maybe Sam doesn’t want to be a Winchester man.

Sam loves Dean more than anyone else in the world, and he couldn’t have asked for a better brother. Sam doesn’t know what the future has in store for him, but Dean’s life now is Sam’s worst nightmare. Dean is the epitome of wasted potential. He should be visiting colleges right now. If he had gotten his act together when he started high school and actually put forth real effort, he could be applying to engineering programs. He could be checking out the English majors at fancy, liberal arts colleges. He could be in a functional relationship. He could have friends.

But instead he’s a good little soldier whose only goal in life seems to be following Dad’s orders. He’ll be a jaded alcoholic by the time he’s thirty – just like John. He’ll be washing bloodstains out of his clothing and sleeping with a gun under his pillow until the day he dies. It’s highly unlikely that he’ll live past his fortieth birthday. He’ll be alone. For the rest of his life, he’ll be alone.

But not Sam. Sam would rather die than end up like Dean. More than anything Sam just wants to be free.

 

 

Castiel is at least entertaining, and Dean finds his strangeness comforting. He needs a healthy dose of weird in his life or he’ll probably go insane.

So when the bell rings and Dean’s seated, but Castiel is nowhere to be found, Dean jumps at the opportunity to find out what happened to the guy. Castiel was present in all of their earlier classes, and Dean swears that he saw him in the hallway just a minute ago. Math is only a few doors down from the biology lab, so Dean doesn’t know how he could have gotten lost. It’s the first unexplainable absence he’s encountered in months and it allows him to feel, very briefly, like a hunter again.

The hallways are eerily empty and lifeless, making Dean wonder if searching them will yield any results. Castiel could be in the principal’s office or infirmary. It’s also possible that a concerned teacher sent the school counselor after him, and now he’s somewhere playing with puppets and talking about his feelings.

Or he’s in some kind of trouble. If it were anyone else Dean might consider canceling his one-man search party in lieu of grabbing a root beer slushy from the gas station up the road.

But Castiel doesn’t have any friends to look out for him. Dean’s probably the only person who even noticed he was missing. Now that the Castiel is no longer scaring away Dean’s romantic prospects, Dean can’t bring himself to actively dislike the guy. The staring is still extremely irritating, but in a way it’s also a little flattering. Maybe Dean just has a soft spot for Castiel because Castiel makes him laugh.

Dean’s wandering takes him all the way to the third floor before he hears shouting. His ears perk up and his heart skips a beat because Dean Winchester would know the sound of a fistfight anywhere, and he’s been itching for a chance to throw some punches. The hunt for Castiel can wait. Kicking a bully’s ass would be the most fun he’s had since his arrival, so he doesn’t waste any time following the sound to its source.

Dean’s not surprised to catch Alastair’s gang red handed at the scene of the crime.

Alastair, resident school bully, is a sadistic psychopath who makes even a badass like Dean feel a tad uneasy. His followers aren’t nearly as vicious, but they still have a nasty reputation, one Dean’s not sure is completely deserved.

The scene is so familiar he can’t help but marvel at how trite bullying is these days. A couple of goons are holding their victim down while the others frisk him, probably searching for his cell phone and lunch money. But Dean starts to feel differently when he realizes that _Castiel_ is the poor bastard they’re kicking the crap out of – and _shit_ maybe he was too hasty to label the ordeal banal, because one of those kids has a freakin’ _dagger_.

“Hey!” Dean shouts, brazenly making his presence known. “What the hell is going on here?”

He expected the wannabe-thugs to put up more of a fight, so he is somewhat shocked and _very_ much disappointed when they drop Castiel like a hot potato and then proceed to scamper. Does Alastair let just anyone join his crew? These clowns are supposed to be the baddest of the bad. Picking on a loser like Castiel is lame enough, but shagging ass when they’re interrupted is downright pathetic.

Dean was really hoping for some action. When he spots one guy clutching Castiel’s notebook he takes off after him, determined to run him down and maybe slap him around a bit. At this point he’ll take anything he can get.

But when the dude looks over his shoulder and sees Dean hot on his tail, he hurls the notebook at Dean’s face and uses the diversion to make an escape. Apparently these punks don’t even know how to steal properly.

And, of course, now Dean’s torn. He wants his fight (he _really_ wants his fight) but the little voice in his head (that sounds an awful lot like Sam whining) keeps telling him to turn back and make sure the goofy kid is alright. If he’s seriously injured the sooner Dean can get him help the better off he’ll be.

So in the end, his begrudging concern for Castiel’s wellbeing wins out. Dean must be spending too much time with Sam, because he’s obviously going soft. That, and… he’s a little curious. Castiel is weird and annoying, and an easy target for bullying, but the weapon was a little much. Dean wants to ask Castiel why Alastair’s crew would want to stab –

_Sonofabitch!_  They must be militant homophobes who found out about Castiel’s big gay crush! It’s the only explanation. Dean’s heard about incidents like this happening in schools all over the country, but he’s never personally encountered any violent bigots. Now that he’s witnessed their handiwork he’s comes to the conclusion that sometimes humans are really no better than demons. At least demons own up to being evil. Humans like to pretend that bullying a guy like Castiel for being understandably attracted to a guy like Dean is some how morally correct.

Dean’s handsome features really are a curse sometimes. He sighs inwardly. Poor Castiel. It’s not his fault that he’s fallen for Dean’s irresistible good looks and charm. The least Dean can do is bring him his notebook back and make sure they didn’t rough him up too bad.

As he makes his way back to Castiel, Dean flips idly through the journal, not paying close attention and not expecting to see anything out of the ordinary. Really, all he wants is to have something to do with his hands, and it never occurs to him that the contents of the book might be a private.

Dean stops in his tracks when he realizes that what he’s reading isn’t normal. What he’s reading is straight up Stephen King.

Apparently, Castiel hasn’t been sitting at his desk taking diligent class notes. Line after line, and page after page, Castiel has filled the book with information about someone called Michael. He’s been watching this “Michael” for weeks now and has been keeping detailed records of his observations.

_Michael receives a failing grade on a biology test._

_Michael comes to class with a hangover._

_Michael overtips the conventionally attractive waitress_

_Michael cheats on a math quiz._

_Michael neglects to shower for the third successive day._

_Michael makes his history teacher laugh with an excuse for his tardiness, and she neglects to mark him absent._

The problem is that there isn’t anyone named Michael in any of their classes. It must be an alias or code, and Dean can only think of one guy who hates biology, loves beer, and can charm any woman.

Castiel is talking about Dean. Dean is Michael, and Castiel isn’t exactly Harriet the Spy. The information in the notebook is clearly the work of an obsessive stalker, and just holding it in his hand is giving Dean the heebie jeebies.

This is not okay. This is not even close to being okay. How long until Castiel shows up at Dean’s house with a sledgehammer and goes all _Misery_ on him? Maybe Dean shouldn’t have been so quick to call Freaky Trench Coat Kid’s obviously unhealthy infatuation just a harmless crush.

What’s worse is that it managed to catch him off guard. Dean’s a good judge of character and it’s not like him to be so wrong about a person. He’d always figured that, underneath all of the weirdness, Castiel wasn’t such a bad guy. He mostly keeps to himself, but on the rare occasions when he does get involved, he’s sweet and helpful and hilarious in his own bizarre way. How was Dean supposed to know the kid’s an actual freak? He feels betrayed.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looks up and discovers that he’s now face to face with the perp himself. Castiel’s doe-eyed innocence is deceptive but Dean knows better now. He’s not falling for it.

“What is this?” Dean demands, holding up the notebook and shaking it for emphasis. “Have you been stalking me this whole time?”

Castiel blinks. “Technically, yes,” he admits. “But it’s not what you think.”

If it’s not what Dean thinks, it’s probably something much worse. Shit like this is pathological. Dean’s pretty sure he saw something in there about how many hours he sleeps at night.

“You’re sick,” he says, backing away slowly.

“This body sustained only minimal damage,” Castiel says, sounding strangely detached. “Aside from perhaps one or two rib fractures and heavy contusions, I am in perfect health.”

Dean shakes his head. This is too weird, even for him. A delusional, lovesick, bible banging, trench coat wearing, weirdo isn’t in the purview of a supernatural hunter. He needs to end this now before it’s too late.

“Nah, man,” Dean’s voice is edged with tension. “Something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Please, Dean,” Castiel says. “There’s no cause for alarm. I’m trying to help you.”

Help him? Help him do what? How can a notebook full of crazy possibly help him? He doesn’t need Castiel’s help and he can’t remember ever asking for it.

Dean shakes his head again. “Stay away from me, man,” he warns. “If you come near me or my family again I’ll make sure you regret it.”

And then the bell rings. It’s a Friday and the last class of the day has just let out. Everyone is in a hurry to pack up and head home. The hallway floods with students and Dean uses this as his opportunity to disappear into the crowd. He doesn’t look back until he sees Sam waiting for him in front of the Impala.

He doesn’t remember dropping the notebook yet somehow it’s gone.

 

 

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” Sam tells Dean once Dean has finished relaying the details of the strange encounter. “Why is he calling you ‘Michael’?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Dean says. “Kid’s a nut. I bet that’s why he was homeschooled. His parents were probably trying to keep him locked up like Boo Radley.”

 Sam giggles. “Dean, Boo Radley was a symbol of goodness and innocence. He saved those kids at the end of the book, remember?”

“Huh.” Dean makes a face. “I guess I only read the first half.”

They were forced to change schools so frequently that Dean almost never got to finish whatever book his English class was reading. He misses those days and hopes that John returns soon so they can hit the road again. That would certainly solve the Castiel problem.

“Did he tell you he was homeschooled?” Sam asks.

“No, I just kind of assumed. It’s either that or he’s Amish. He’s not allowed in the computer lab anymore because he’s like tech kryptonite.”

“He’s kind of a mystery,” Sam says. “Nobody actually knows anything about him.”

“I know he’s a stalker,” Dean says. “I know he’s been spying on me.”

“I can look into getting you a restraining order,” Sam offers. “I think I’ve got a knack for this law stuff.”

“I don’t need a restraining order.” Dean scoffs. “Restraining orders are for girls.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to try talking to him again.”

“And say what?”

Sam shrugs. “Just talk to him. It sounds like he’s lonely.

“He’s not lonely,” Dean says. “Little old ladies are lonely. Teenagers who wear trench coats are loners. You know who was a loner?”

“No, Dean,” Sam replies, bored. “Who was a loner?”

“The Zodiac Killer. He was a loner.”

Sam sighs and rolls his eyes. “Dean, they never caught the Zodiac Killer.”

“Yeah,” Dean grins, reaching over to ruffle Sam’s hair. “Because he was a loner.” Dean freezes. “Or a demon…” he hums thoughtfully. “Or both.”

Sam snorts. “Talk about a one track mind…”

 

 

It’s Saturday night and Dean is alone. Bobby is visiting his old hunting buddy, Rufus, and Sam is “hanging out” with a girl from his math class. Dean was supposed to have a date too, but somehow Lydia found out about Lisa, and Lisa found out about Bela, and it turns out that Bela is a kleptomaniac. The ‘hit it and quit it’ approach is proving to be less effective and more prone to complications now that he’s no longer jumping from school to school and moving all over the country.

It’s a shame because Dean is antsy. The episode with Weird Trench Coat Kid left his skin crawling and ever since then he’s been a little on edge. He’s getting tired of seeing the same walls and the same faces every day. School is a prison, and no matter how hard he tries he just can’t relate to the other students. They all seem to like him, and it’s not as if he has anything against them, it’s just that they have no idea what’s out there. They don’t really know Dean and it’s likely that they never will.

His life used to make sense. He used to have a purpose; saving people, hunting things. Now he reads textbooks and writes lab reports and solves math equations. He might as well be watching paint dry. It’d be just as productive.

Thank god for the Impala. When Dean starts going stir crazy he knows it’s time to take his baby out for a spin. He’s going to drive as fast and as far away as he can, and hopefully, _hopefully_ that will help ease his restlessness.

It does, to an extent. Dean finally feels like he can breathe again. Speeding down the highway and blasting AC/DC is a Zen-like experience for him. It’s the closest he’ll ever come to finding inner peace. He doesn’t know how he would have coped if his Dad hadn’t left her behind. Maybe next time he can convince Sam to tag along. He seems to be having an easier time transitioning to civilian life, but he’s still a Winchester.

Dean doesn’t have a real destination in mind so he just drives. He likes the way the flat fields of grass change color as the sun sinks below the horizon and the moon rises. More than anything he just wants to escape the suburbs. Bobby’s house is outside of the city limits, as is their school, but both are too close to the Midwestern metropolis for his liking.

Dean drives for about an hour on interstate-90 before he has to stop for gas.

The SUV that’s been following him since he left Minnehaha County stops for gas too.

Dean doesn’t believe in coincidences. The SUV has tinted windows, so he’s got no clue who’s behind the wheel or how many people are in the car. If Dean had any sense he’d shove the key back into the ignition and get the hell out of there. He’s been in enough dangerous situations to know when shit’s about to hit the fan.

But when has that ever mattered to him? Dean’s not afraid of danger; he relishes it. Leaving the safety of his car fills him with a sense of nervous excitement. This might even be fun.

The big reveal is a little anti-climatic. Of course it’s Alastair and his crew. Dean feels like he’s living out a scene from an eighties gang movie. Alastair is the first to emerge, followed by six of his goons. Dean’s too far away to see their faces, but he’s sure they’re doing their best to look intimidating.

They call out to him, shouting obscenities, insulting his car, slandering his mother – nothing terribly original. Dean doesn’t need to be baited. They could have stood their silently minding their own business and he still would have challenged them. He wants his goddamn fight. This has been a long time coming.

Except it hasn’t. Dean had never spoken to Alastair or anyone in his gang before the incident earlier in the week with Castiel. Confronting him like this is a little excessive, given that all he did was stop them from stabbing a helpless nerd.

Dean knows two things about Alastair’s crew: they’re cowards, and they don’t live up to their reputation. Dean is _so_ looking forward to kicking their asses.

But as he struts towards the SUV his swagger stalls when he catches a glimpse of their eyes. Dean’s just learned a third fun fact about Alastair’s crew; they’re all demons.

He is _so_ screwed.

Only it’s too late to turn back now. He wanted a fight and now he’s got one. John would never consider running away, and so neither does Dean.

The demons form a circle around Dean and begin closing in on him. He’s not afraid. It’s that brief moment of calm before the storm. Dean’s stuck in the middle of nowhere, he’s surrounded by black-eyed monsters, he’s a hundred miles away from anyone who he ever thought he could count on for help, but he’s not afraid.

It’s strange. He’s about to have his ass handed to him by a gang of demons, and all he can think about is how he never got around to buying Sam a present for his fourteenth birthday.

When Dean’s first punch fails to land, and he takes a blow to the gut, he blames it on the sedentary student life (because it couldn’t _possibly_ have _anything_ to do with the fact that he’s outnumbered seven to one). Dean manages one or two good hits before he’s knocked to the ground and the real beat down begins.

It takes Dean a solid minute to realize that this isn’t just your average ass kicking. These demons mean to kill him, and there’s nothing Dean can do to stop it.

Then Alastair is speaking; at least Dean thinks he is. His lips are moving, but Dean’s ears are ringing, and he can’t hear a word anyone is saying. He’s not even sure they’re talking to him because his eyes are half blinded by tears. Dean would normally berate himself for crying, but, given that when his head hit the pavement he felt his skull crack, he’ll give himself a break, just this once. To make matters worse, it’s becoming more and more difficult to breathe as the pain sets in.

The pain is excruciating.

Dean really hopes he doesn’t vomit because he’s already got a mouth full of blood. He’s just proud of himself for not wetting his pants. Sammy would have totally wet his pants.

It gets a little weird after that. Dean’s starting to see things. When his bleary eyes catch sight of Castiel approaching the gang of demons, Dean is positive his mind is playing tricks on him. He’s losing a lot of blood, and he’s probably suffering from a major head injury, but for a concussion this is a little much. At this point he doubts he’ll regain lucidity before he dies

Truthfully though, he’s a little disappointed in himself. If he’s straight up delusional and about to kick the bucket, why can’t he at least be hallucinating latex and strippers? Why do the last thoughts he has before he dies have to be about _Castiel_? It’s not fair. Prisoners on death row get to choose their last meal. Dying teenagers should, at the very least, get to choose the content of their final delusion.

The dream is certainly a vivid one. The boy talking to Alastair is unmistakably Castiel. Dean’s face is swelling, making his vision even hazier, but Castiel has a very distinct look. Tan trench coat and messy hair? It’s him alright – the sheep wandering into the lion’s den. This is all so very wrong.

Dean tries to call out to Castiel, tries to tell him to run, to hide, to maybe get help, but he can’t seem to open his mouth, and he’s got this horrible feeling that he might have maybe bitten off the tip of his tongue. All he can do is watch helplessly as Castiel takes on the demons. Whether it’s real or imagined doesn’t matter anymore. Dean just wants it to stop. He doesn’t want to watch Trench Coat Kid get torn apart.

And he doesn’t.

Castiel must be a wolf in sheep’s clothing because the kid is _fierce_. He doesn’t even flinch when the demons attack. In fact, it’s just the opposite. The demons are cowering. They’re the ones screaming in agony this time.

Castiel is wasting them with some kind of weird bright white light, and Dean must be drifting in and out of consciousness because he can’t keep track of him. It’s probably the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever seen.

Then he feels two hands close around his ankles, and when he looks up he feels another sickening wave a terror wash over him. Alastair is dragging him towards the SUV. Dean’s ready for this hallucination to end now. It was fun watching Castiel punish the demons, but if this little fantasy is going to leave Dean in the clutches of a sadistic demon he’d rather it just end now.

“Your feathered friend needs to learn to keep his eye on the prize,” Alastair taunts when he see’s Dean’s not yet unconscious.

If Dean weren’t about to choke on his own blood (and possibly vomit) he’d tell Alastair to go fuck himself.

“Let him go!” a voice behind him commands. Fantasy Castiel can sound very authoritative when he wants to, apparently.

“Or what?” Alastair laughs. “You’ll lay me to waste? You don’t have the voltage to take me out with one of your fancy light shows.”

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Close your eyes.” He grab Dean’s arm and his grip is so tight it burns. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.”

It hurts too much to think now. Dean decides that he’s ready for sleep so he obeys Castiel's order. He’s only vaguely aware of the raw energy and blinding light that engulfs him. He’s pretty sure he hears Alastair shouting, but at this point nothing feels real.

Just before Dean passes out he feels something, a soft pressure against his forehead, and then suddenly the pain is gone.

 

 

Dean’s sitting on the hood of the Impala, feeling healthier than he has in years. Alastair managed to escape, but the rest of his crew is dead. Their corpses lie scattered on the concrete; their eyes have been scorched from their sockets. Dean’s never seen, read, or heard about any creature capable of inflicting that kind of damage with so little effort. The strange, white light he wields is more like something out of a sci-fi film. That kind of power shouldn’t exist in the real world.

Sam was right. The kid really is a mystery; one that Dean is anxious to solve.

Castiel is standing before him now, looking taller and more confident than the Castiel he knows from school. Clearly, Castiel is more dangerous than your average deranged stalker. Still, Dean is unafraid. Castiel healed him, right? If he wanted to kill him wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of healing him first. Dean figures he might as well add “miraculous healing powers” to the list of powers Castiel shouldn’t have but apparently does.

The gas station is deserted now. Dean feels a temperature drop, which, despite being almost a nightly occurrence, manages to surprise him. The air around them is saturated with ozone; the scent is too strong to miss. It wasn’t like that before Castiel showed up and did his thing. He remembers hearing a cricket chirping and the vending machines humming when he first stepped out of his car, but it’s completely silent now.

“What are you?” Dean asks finally.

Castiel fixes Dean with a level stare and says, gravely, “I’m an angel of the lord.”

Dean would be lying if he said that those words didn’t send a chill straight down his spine. But then again Castiel has been creeping him out since day one so that’s hardly a noteworthy development. A good delivery doesn’t change the fact that he’s clearly just screwing with Dean’s head now.

“Get the hell out of here,” Dean says, an edge of impatience in his tone. “There’s no such thing.”

“Obviously you are mistaken,” Castiel says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing before you now.”

Dean snorts. “You expect me to believe you’re an _angel_?”

“I have deceived you, and I…” Castiel looks away guiltily. “Deception is, of course, frowned upon in heaven, but I deemed it necessary given the circumstances…”

“Sorry, pal, but I’m not buying it.”

Because it’s almost too ridiculous to stomach. He’s never heard of any hunter ever crossing paths with a real angel. Dean’s not about to let this monster make a fool out of him. John doesn’t believe in god or heaven, and neither does Dean.

“Good things do happen,” Castiel says, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes again.

“Not in my experience, they don’t,” Dean counters. “And, even if they did… I’m not so sure that you’re a good thing.”

Castiel frowns slightly. “If you believe in demons you should have no trouble accepting the existence of angels. Why are you so skeptical?”

That’s not exactly a million dollar question, and frankly Dean’s surprised that Castiel even has to ask.

“I’ve seen demons,” Dean says. “ _Plenty_ of them. But angels?” he shakes his head. “I’d rather believe that they don’t exist then that they’re up there and just don’t want to get their hands dirty.”

“It’s not that simple,” Castiel says.

“Well, it’s certainly not complicated,” Dean snaps. “Angels are supposed to be righteous. If having pillow fights in heaven while demons kill innocent people down here on earth is righteous, then I don’t see how they’re any better than the other monsters we hunt.”

“We _are_ righteous,” Castiel insists. “We are instruments of heaven, and our orders come from God. We don’t intercede human affairs because to do so would go against his will.”

“Just following orders?” Dean’s lip curls. “You’re going with the Nuremberg defense?”

“I’m not a Nazi, Dean. I didn’t torture you. I _saved_ you from torture, or did you not notice the scalpel in Alastair’s left hand?”

“How magnanimous of you,” Dean says sarcastically. “Where’ve you been for the past fifteen years?”

Because he remembers his mom, tucking him in, kissing his forehead and whispering into his hair, _angels are watching over you,_ the same night that demon burned her alive on the ceiling of Sammy’s nursery.

“We are not your servants,” Castiel says. “It’s not our job to fix your problems.”

“I thought angels were supposed to be… I don’t know… _angelic_?”

Castiel gives him a superior look. “Read the bible. Angels are warriors.”

“Warriors, huh?” Dean feels his temper flaring again. “Then why don’t you fight?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Castiel bites back. “It is not within the capacity of the human mind to understand my true power and significance.”

If there’s one thing Dean _loves_ , it’s when supernatural creatures call him stupid.

“Enlighten me,” Dean says. He’s so tired of only hearing excuses. He’s sick of the lies. He’ll pretend that he doesn’t know John’s full of shit because John’s his father and family gets a pass. The same goes for Sam too, because, well, frankly, Sam’s his whole world. Castiel – angel or not – can go to hell. Just because the guy saved him from a gang of demons doesn’t mean Dean’s going to forget the he’s not human.

Castiel advances slowly, as if every step he takes is deliberate, and he doesn’t stop walking until he’s looming over Dean and they’re practically nose-to-nose. Dean’s never been good at hiding his anger (a clenched jaw being his infamous tell) Most of the time Castiel is like an inanimate doll. But when he’s pissed, dude has the most expressive eyes of anyone Dean’s ever met, and his glare is so icy it’s a miracle Dean doesn’t have frostbite.

“I’m a soldier,” Castiel says lowly. “I take my orders from _G_ _od_. I’m not beholden to man. You should try showing me some respect.”

“Respect?” Dean leans back because Castiel clearly has no concept of personal space. “Dude, you’ve been _stalking_ me!”

What kind of angel stalks a guy like a lovesick teenager? Why isn’t he watching Dean from up in the clouds? If he’s really that all-powerful he should be able to do whatever it is that he’s doing on earth from up in the sky.

Castiel’s cheeks redden and not from anger. “ _Guarding_ ,” he says, backing away. “I’ve been guarding you.”

“Cas, man,” Dean starts, “I’m beginning to think you don’t understand the difference.”

“My intentions, I assure you, have been noble.”

“Really?” Dean asks. “So if I were to open up your locker can you say for sure that I won’t find a lock of my hair and the tissue I used last week to blow my nose?”

“I’m not a witch,” Castiel says, visibly flustered. “I’m not a stalker. I’m not a monster. I’m an _angel_.”

Already the tension between them is beginning to fade. Castiel is clearly powerful, and when he’s got his game face on it’s obvious that he’s not messing around. He’s formidable. He’s more than formidable. Dean should be intimidated. Dean should be frightened.

But, at the same time, it’s difficult to think of Castiel as anyone other than Weird Trench Coat Kid.

He’s standing before Dean, red-faced and fidgety, looking like he’s about to die of acute embarrassment. The shy, awkward weirdo act isn’t a ruse. Castiel really is hopelessly uncool, but, as it turns out, he might also be a little bit of a badass.

And just when Dean thought life was beginning to get boring.

“So, you’re not my number one fan?” Dean asks.

“I’m not infatuated with you,” Castiel says, “if that’s what you’re implying.

Dean has good instincts and even now Castiel doesn’t strike him as being particularly malevolent. Demons can be difficult to spot because, though something about their goodwill always seems disingenuous, the same can easily be said about most humans. But Castiel is different. At school, his sincere kindness, in Dean’s eyes, is almost as defining as his eccentricity.

Still, all of this leaves Dean with an important question.

“So, hypothetically,” he starts, “if I did believe you – ”

“Do you?” Castiel asks, cutting him off. “It would make my mission a lot less difficult if you did. Having to constantly conceal my identity has been unpleasant, as I have found lying does not come easily to me. I would much prefer it if we could to be honest with each other.” He exhales noisily. “I’m beginning to suspect that my superiors are dissatisfied with my work and my failure to assimilate, both tasks I feel have been weakened by the necessity for deception. Additionally, I do not appreciate being mistaken for a sexual deviant, and I also doubt that heaven would approve of such a label. I am a loyal servant and perform well on the battlefield, but I don’t know if that’s enough.”

Dean’s a little taken aback by the rambling interruption. “Dude,” he breathes. “You are _so_ weird.”

Castiel grimaces. “Yes, that seems to be how humans generally perceive me, regardless of my efforts to appear normal.”

Dean will admit that the guy’s come a long way since their first day of classes. Castiel seems to have gradually adopted a more current speech pattern and register, which makes talking to him less unbearable. Dean’s also noticed that he seems to be getting the hang of facial expressions, another substantial improvement.

“Okay,” Dean sighs. “Fine. Let’s say, for the sake of this discussion, that I believe you. I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me. Why me?”

Castiel is silent for a long moment. He tilts his head and stares at Dean with as much intensity as he did the first time they met. Finally he looks away and glances over his shoulder. When he faces Dean once more his expression is grim. “Not here,” he says.

“Then where –"

But before Dean can get the words out, Castiel has two fingers pressed to his forehead. The world starts spinning and Dean instinctively closes his eyes. It’s not until after they open again that he starts to freak out. This must be how that Dorothy chick felt when she woke up Oz.

It’s daylight now, and they’re standing by the grassy banks of a river. Everything is so much greener and warmer and Dean’s driven from Maine to New Mexico, but the smell of this air, and the feel of it on his skin is wholly unfamiliar.

As if this night couldn’t get any weirder.

 

 

They sit side by side on a bench waiting for Dean to calm down.

“I should have warned you,” Castiel says, frowning as if Dean were the one who had done something wrong.

“Damn right you should have warned me,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“You’ll get used to it,” Castiel tells him.

“So do you plan on telling me where we are?” Dean asks. “Or are we playing twenty questions?”

Castiel blinks, puzzled. “Twenty questions?”

“The game?”

“What game?”

Dean rubs his face with his hands and groans. “Can you please just tell me where we are?” he asks.

“Someplace safe,” Castiel says, and when Dean turns to shoot him a murderous glare he concedes and says, “Wagga Wagga, Australia.”

Dean sputters. “You don’t just go zapping people to Australia!”

He can’t be in Australia. Someone needs to be home to make sure Sam’s back by his midnight curfew. Dean’s really looking forward to finding out if Sam discovered the condoms he had slipped into his math textbook on the off chance that it really was a study date. It’s Dean’s responsibility as an older brother to teach the kid that Saturday nights are for getting laid, not for studying math, and certainly not for international travel with angels. Dean cannot be in Australia.

Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I felt the need to prove myself, and I thought you’d be impressed.”

Dean can admit to himself that, yeah, it is pretty impressive, but, no, he’s not ready to give Castiel that satisfaction.

“We’re not even in the same freakin’ time zone!”

“My apologies,” Castiel replies. “Next time I’ll choose someplace closer.”

Next time?

“Look, Cas,” Dean says. “Just… just tell me why you’re here.”

“Because god commanded it.”

“But why me?” Dean asks. “Why are you here guarding me, of all people?”

“Because heaven has work for you,” Castiel replies, just as cryptically.

Dean wants to throttle him. “Are you incapable of giving me a straight answer?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Castiel says, sounding genuinely confused.

And Dean doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. “What do the angels want with me?” he asks.

“I don’t have all the details,” Castiel admits. “But what I _do_ know is that sometime in the distant future you’ll be helping the archangel, Michael, save the world. Heaven wants to ensure that you’ll be alive and ready to play your part. I was sent here on God’s orders to protect you.”

“ _God_ sent you to follow me around?” Dean wants to laugh at the absurdity. “And what the hell was that in the hallway? You weren’t going to let those demons at school shank you, were you?

Castiel shrugs. “I’m under strict orders not to use the powers of heaven unless it is to carry out my duties defending you.”

“Why?”

“Using them makes it difficult to mask my grace,” Castiel explains. “I need to keep my grace hidden if I want to stay under the radar and not become a magnet for unsavory creatures.”

“Are you kidding me? Screw staying under the radar! You could have been seriously hurt.”

“I wasn’t in any real danger. Only an angel killing sword can harm an angel, and the one in Alastair’s possession is a forgery. It’s more important that I maintain my cover.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “I’ve been studying the Krebs cycle with _demons_ , and God sent an _angel_ to stalk me.”

“God didn’t send me to stalk you,” Castiel says. “I was supposed to… my mission was to…” he steals a quick glances at Dean’s face before looking away uncomfortably. “I was supposed to befriend you.”

“You think we’re _friends_?” Dean asks, incredulous. “Is this little trip to Wagga Wagga your idea of a playdate?”

He immediately regrets the outburst when he catches a glimpse of Castiel’s face, which is still decidedly turned away. The poor guy looks gutted. It’s that face normal kids make when they find out Santa Claus is really a fat dude in a fake beard. Dean is such a douchebag.

He imagines Castiel visiting these riverbanks to feed the ducks when he’s feeling lonely. Castiel seems like the kind of guy who would keep stale bread in his coat pocket to feed to ducks when he’s feeling lonely. The kid probably doesn’t have real friends, and Dean just stomped all over his fragile little angel heart. Shit, and he mentioned something about his bosses being unsatisfied, didn’t he? That’s Dean’s fault too, isn’t it? He’s ruined Cas’s career and social life in one swing

“I’m considered young by heaven’s standards,” Castiel says finally. “My superiors thought that might make it easier to bond with you, however after our initial introduction I realized I was unsuitable for that role and I resigned to watching you from afar.”

“Ah.” Dean’s not sure how else to respond. He doesn’t trust himself not to make it worse. Castiel is suffering because he’s not cool enough to relate to Dean. He’s probably been over compensating for the failure by filling up that notebook with every little detail of his every observation. It must really suck to risk your life for someone who thinks you’re freak and regards your existence as an annoyance. Poor guy.

Castiel sighs impatiently and at last turns to meet Dean’s eyes. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that I’m going to smite you,” he snaps.

Dean laughs, surprised and a little delighted by the threat. “Wouldn’t that get you in trouble?”

“Yes.” Castiel glowers. “You should consider yourself lucky for that. Do you have any idea how often I have to resist the urge to smite you?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Dean says.

“I…” Castiel hesitates for a moment and gives Dean an unfathomable look. “I don’t care for you much, but rest assured, I will do my job and protect you.”

“Gee, Cas,” Dean says, struggling not to laugh. “You really know how to make a guy feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

“Perhaps next time I won’t be so quick to rescue you from the clutches of monsters like Alastair,” Castiel says with startling sincerity.

Dean’s good humor begins to fade. “I believe you,” he says. “You’re an angel, right? That means you’re just a bystander. I’m willing to bet you have a lot of experience watching bad things happen to good people and doing nothing about it. You’d have felt nothing watching Alastair carve me up.”

Castiel stiffens. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Dean’s old enough to know how the world works. He doesn’t believe in miracles, and he’s certainly not going to put his faith in Castiel to save him. The only thing Dean can count on is family, and Cas is a far cry from being family.

“If you didn’t have orders to protect me would you really have let Alastair take me away?”

“Perhaps, but most likely not.”

“And if your orders had been to not interfere?

“Then I wouldn’t have even considered it,” Castiel says plainly. “I don’t disobey orders.”

“That’s pathetic.” Because even if Dean had known that trying to save the helpless nerd would land him into a heap of trouble, it still wouldn’t have occurred to him _not_ to interfere.

“You’re thinking about that day in the hallway aren’t you?” Castiel asks.

“Ugh,” Dean groans. “Don’t tell me you read minds too.”

“I have numerous telepathic abilities but mind reading isn’t one of them. I’m just perceptive.

“Whatever.”

“Angels…” Castiel sighs. “You must understand… we’re not like humans; we don’t have free will.”

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically. “C’mon, Cas, don’t give me that shit. Remember the holy water? You have free will you’re just afraid to use it.”

“Holy water?” Castiel says. “You mean that flask was filled with holy water?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t a demon.”

“You… you thought I was a demon?” Castiel asks, sounding both shocked and hurt.

Dean shakes his head. “I mean, I knew there had to be something going on because you were so creepy, but I never actually believed you were evil.”

“Creepy?” Castiel repeats, eyebrows drawn together.

“You were following me around.” Dean laughs a little. “You were literally creeping on me.”

“I was doing my job.”

“Sure you were.”

“Well, I…” Castiel clears his throat and lowers his gaze. “Thank you for trying to help me that day. Obviously I wasn’t in any real danger but – ” he hesitates and looks up to meet Dean’s eyes. “I can’t stop you from passing judgment on angels, but I think you should know that before you happened upon me, seven humans walked by, witnessed the scene, and did nothing.”

“I guess I’m holding you to a higher standard,” Dean says. “And, by the way, I didn’t ‘happen upon you’.”

“What?”

“When I noticed you weren’t in class I thought something might be wrong.”

“You… you were looking for me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I wasn’t worried or anything.” Dean shrugs. “It just seemed… not boring.”

Castiel stares at him. “I don’t understand you humans, I really don’t.”

This is, of course, coming from Mr. Enigma, the little nerdy dude with wings.

“So… an angel, huh?” Dean says, returning the stare. “Is that why Alastair called you my feathered friend?”

“Yes.” Something flickers in Castiel’s eyes. “He’s very clever, you see. I’m sure he came up with that name all by himself.”

Dean laughs. “You know, we hunted a vampire once in Missoula who, I kid you not, only spoke in puns.”

“Vampires have a reputation for being eccentric, even by supernatural standards, which is probably why they’re frequently the subject of outlandish works of fiction.” Castiel wrinkles his nose. “Demons like Alastair are simply abominations.”

“You don’t think he’ll be at school on Monday, do you?” Dean asks, worried.

“No,” Castiel replies. “Now that Alastair is an active threat, he must be neutralized.”

“Translation, please?”

“I’m going to hunt him down and kill him.”

Dean likes the sound of that. Maybe Castiel isn’t so bad after all.

“Awesome.” Dean grins. “Am I invited?

“Absolutely not,” Castiel says. “It’s late. I should take you home. It's getting late.”

Dean’s a hunter. He’s seen some crazy shit, and Castiel has to know that.

“Why didn’t you just tell me the truth in the beginning?” he asks. “I could have handled the truth.”

“There were… concerns regarding your father,” Castiel says. “He would no doubt be displeased if he knew you were involved in the skirmishes between angels and demons, and he could have made things very difficult. Your beliefs and values tend to mirror his, and… ” He purses his lips. “I prefer indifference to hostility, so I decided to avoid putting you in that position.”

“Dad’s not here,” Dean says, surprised by his own bitterness. “So it doesn’t matter what he thinks.” Though he does wonder what Bobby will say, and Sam too, Sam who actually believes in heaven and angels.

“You can’t tell them,” Castiel says, reading his mind. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t keep secrets from Sammy,” Dean says, “or Bobby,” he adds as an afterthought.

That’s not exactly true. Keeping secrets and lying is second nature to the Winchester men.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, and for once he sounds truly apologetic. “I know this must be a difficult burden for you to bear on your own, but there’s no other way to keep them safe.”

And Cas has him there, because there’s nothing in this world he wouldn’t do to keep Sam safe. John taught him that it’s perfectly acceptable to look someone you love in the eye and tell them a lie if it’s to keep them safe.

Dean’s not sure Sam would even want to know. He’s been enjoying civilian life too much. It wouldn’t be fair to drag him into this, Bobby too. Bobby might feel obligated to tell John, and Dean wouldn’t feel right asking him to lie.

“Whatever you say, man.” Dean sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “Can we just go get my car now?”

Dean doesn’t care if Castiel saved him from death and torture. If something’s happened to his baby there’s going to be hell to pay.

Later that night when he’s safe in bed, it’s only after an hour of tossing and turning that he finally falls into an uneasy sleep. For the first time in years he dreams about the fire. It is not a happy dream. The nightmare leaves him shivering, his clothes and hair damp with cold sweat, and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He has to actively resist the urge to get out of bed and check on Sam. Eventually he resigns to curling up into a ball of misery and fear.

In other words, things are finally looking up.

 


	2. November & December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pie is shared, and buttons are pushed. There's story time and awkward phone calls. Someone shouts the truth from the rooftop, and that same someone makes two lists. Another someone sucks at being reassuring and but is learning to accept change. Also, flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take a lot of liberties with biblical canon, and I really hope that doesn't offend anyone. I'm just making shit up. I actually have no idea what I'm talking about. It's also un-beta'd.

November doesn’t suck, and Dean will grudgingly admit that it’s because of Castiel.

In the beginning it’s a little weird. They both do stellar jobs acting like nothing’s changed. Dean sleeps, smirks, and wisecracks his way through class, while Castiel quietly observes without comment. Most of the time, outside of class, Castiel does the ghost thing, and Dean never sees him. Castiel assured him before they parted ways that he does afford Dean some privacy. He’s never been inside Dean’s car or Bobby’s house. Though if Dean’s not at home he’ll make any excuse not to be alone, because he knows he won’t actually be alone. He’ll be with Castiel – the invisible angel.

But then they start reading _Macbeth_ in English, and by the end of the class period Dean is _dying_ to talk to someone about the three witches he met in Wichita, or the time they wasted that Scottish ghost in Connecticut. Normally he’d just stifle the urge to discuss his hunting trips because he’d rather not have people thinking he’s insane.

On the way out the door he realizes that there _is_ someone he can talk to about this crap who _won’t_ look at him like he belongs in a loony bin.

 

Dean waits for Castiel in the hallway outside of their classroom. He won’t wait for him inside because he doesn’t want to look too eager. He wants to be causal and play it cool. He doesn’t want it to look like he just spent the better part of an hour debating whether or not to invite Cas to leave with him. It’s important that Castiel doesn’t get the wrong idea. This is not an overture of friendship.

“Hey,” he says when Castiel finally emerges through the doorway with his nose in a book.

Castiel freezes and looks up, startled. “Oh!” he says, eyes widening. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean hasn’t so much as acknowledged Castiel’s existence since that night at the gas station, so trying to talk to him now is a little awkward. Dean’s not a huge fan of awkward, and he’s starting to suspect that he’s about to make a giant fool of himself. This might just be the worst idea he’s ever had.

Whatever.

“Change of plans, Cas,” Dean says. “Today you’re taking a lunch break.” He nods toward the exit door at the end of the hallway. “And it’s time to go, so chop chop.”

Suddenly Castiel’s eyes narrow into angry slits. Sweet, innocent Cas, the bookworm turns into heaven’s most ornery angel. It’s obvious that Dean is the sole focus of his ire, and Cas just lays into him.

“This is my job!” Castiel hisses. “I understand that my presence makes you uncomfortable but that doesn’t mean you can order me to leave. I take my assignments very seriously, and I will not allow you to undermine my efforts to keep you out of harm’s way. Haven’t we been over this already? I’m trying to help you!”

_“Dude_ ,” Dean gapes at him and recoils. “What the _hell_?”

“I don’t appreciate you trying to make my mission more difficult when my top priority is your safety. You have no right to dismiss me. I’ve done my very best to be as unobtrusive as possible, and I’m working hard to respect your boundaries. If you think you can order me to abandon my post on a whim you are mistaken!”

It’s a good thing they’re the only ones left in the hallway because Dean reckons they’d have a hard time explaining this little scene. He was definitely not expecting Castiel to react so poorly to the invite. He didn’t know Cas thought so lowly of him either. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“Look, I wasn’t ordering you to do anything,” Dean says. “I’m not in the mood for school today so I thought I’d bail.”

Castiel blinks rapidly. “You…what?”

“I’m leaving,” Dean tells him.

“Oh.” Castiel meets Dean’s gaze for a moment then quickly looks away. “I already know that you often skip classes. It’s not necessary to notify me.”

“I was inviting you to come with me,” Dean explains patiently. “I was suggesting that we leave together like regular people.”

Dean thought Cas would jump at the opportunity to go out with him, but apparently not. The weirdo just stands there and stares at Dean like he’s grown a second head. Dean never considered that he might be _rejected_.

“But…why?” Castiel asks finally.

Dean stuffs his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and shrugs. “Thought you might want to hang. Clearly I was wrong.”

“No!” Castiel says hurriedly. “I want to ‘hang’.”

Jesus Christ, did he just use air quotes? Dean cannot, for the life of him, figure out where this kid’s head is at. He’s beginning to suspect that not even Castiel knows what Castiel wants.

“You sure?” Dean asks. “Like you said, you’re supposed to watch me, but I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do…”

“I’m quite sure, Dean.” Castiel tells him. “Shall we go now?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going first?”

“It’s a Thursday,” Castiel says. “On Thursday you go to Missy’s Diner for the apple pie. She always makes sure to save you a slice because you remind her of her grandson.”

Dean’s not going to bother asking how he knows that. “I’m going to be so bummed when apple season is over,” Dean says. “I think I’m in love with those pies. I would totally marry one if I could.”

“I’ve seen a photograph of her grandson,” Castiel says. “He looks about fifty pounds overweight and has a very long red beard.”

“No shit.” Dean laughs. “Sounds like he could be my long lost twin.”

“I agree,” Castiel deadpans. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

As Dean walks down the hallway with Castiel by his side he tries telling himself that this isn’t a big deal. He won’t be making a habit out of it, that’s for sure. Nothing has changed between them, and nor will it ever.

“Have you had a chance to try her pies?” Dean asks Castiel, holding the door open for him as they both exit the school building.”

“I have not,” Castiel replies.

“Then you’ve been missing out!” Dean tells him. “I’ll buy you a slice when we get there and you can see for yourself.”

“Hmm…” Castiel frowns. “I’m pleasantly surprised by your uncharacteristic generosity, however I must decline the offer.”

Uncharacteristic generosity? Ouch. He must really think Dean’s an asshole. It sucks because the guy has spent hundreds of hours observing Dean, so it’s not like he’s making baseless assumptions. Castiel is a Dean expert, and his expert opinion seems to suggest that Dean is scum. There may not be any point in trying to be nice to the guy if his mind has already been made up.

“No worries,” Dean says, fishing his car keys from the front pouch of his backpack. “Not allowed to eat while you’re on the job or something?”

“My vessel does not require sustenance to function therefore I do not eat.”

“But this is America,” Dean says. “Nobody eats for sustenance anymore. People eat because they enjoy eating. They eat because food makes them feel good. Not needing to eat has never been a good enough reason not to eat.”

“I shall take that into consideration,” Castiel tells him.

Whatever that means.

Dean stops walking once they reach the Impala. “So,” he says, flashing Castiel a grin. “Ready to go for a ride?”

“I suppose,” Castiel says, eying the car with some trepidation. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather walk?”

Dean chuckles because surely that’s a joke. “I’m positive.”

The Diner is a good six or seven miles away from their school, and he remembers hearing the weather forecaster on the radio mention something about expecting rain later in the day. Dean has no desire to be cold and wet.

He’s about to put the key into the ignition when he notices Castiel is still standing outside the Impala, staring at the passenger side door, and squinting at the handle like it’s advanced alien technology. Clearly, this is the first time Castiel has ever traveled by car

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters under his breath. What the hell has he gotten himself into? Cas is clueless but he’s not incompetent.

Now Dean has to actually get out of the car so he can walk around to the passenger side and open the door for Castiel. The goofy kid doesn’t even look embarrassed, just puzzled. This is so pathetic.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says after he’s seated and Dean has slammed the door shut behind him.

“Did you see what I did there?” Dean asks him as he’s sliding back into the driver’s seat. “With the handle and all?”

“I did.”

“Good, because I’m never doing that for you again.”

Castiel nods. “I understand, and I am confident that I can complete the task unaided in the future.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, finally starting the car. He pauses before putting it into gear and instead turns to look at Castiel. “Look, angel or not, if you’re in my car you have to wear a seatbelt, got it?”

“Affirmative,” Castiel says, though he makes no move to comply. The guy just sits there, stiffly, on the edge of his seat, contemplating the glove compartment.

No freakin’ way.

Dean sighs. “Cas, do you need help with your seatbelt?”

“Perhaps,” Castiel replies.

“Pay attention,” Dean tells him, leaning over. “Because seatbelts save lives, and if I get pulled over and you’re not wearing one, I get fined out the wazoo.” He puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and pushes. “Dude, you have to actually sit in the seat.”

“My apologies,” Castiel says, not really sounding all that sorry.

And so Dean pulls the strap across Castiel’s chest and belts it into place just beside his hip. “If it doesn’t click keep trying until it does.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, not really sounding all that grateful either.

“Whatever, man.”

The ride to the diner is silent and awful, and maybe this was a terrible idea after all. What the hell was Dean thinking inviting Weird Trench Coat Kid to tag along with him?

“I could have done those things by myself,” Castiel tells him as they pull into the parking lot.

“Then why didn’t you?” Dean asks distractedly, looking for an empty spot.

“I’m just not permitted to use my telekinetic powers right now.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“I have superhuman strength,” Castiel says. “I can teleport, dream walk, and travel through time. I’m immortal and invulnerable. I can kill with one touch, heal with one touch and if I really wanted to I could probably set you on fire with my mind.” He gives Dean an almost smile. “That last one is called pyrokinesis, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Dean says, except he kind of was. “But seriously, man. How many times have you seen me getting in and out of this car?”

“When I’m guarding you, my attention is usually focused on the other people and elements in the vicinity,” Castiel says. “I never thought I’d be a passenger in an automobile so I never made an effort to learn the proper procedure for boarding a motor vehicle and preparing my person for transport.” He shoots Dean a tiny glare. “It’s not as unfathomable as you’re making it sound.”

“Why didn’t you at least try?” Dean asks.

“Failure is not worth the risk.”

Dean doesn’t respond until the car is parked and the engine is off. “Look,” he starts, “you’re obviously having a hard time adjusting to the human way of life and that’s got to suck. If you’re having trouble with something just tell me and I’ll help.” He sighs. “Granted, I’ll probably give you shit for it too, but you can handle that, right?”

Castiel nods his head. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

He doesn’t need Dean to unbuckle the seatbelt for him or open his door. He seemed to figure out how to do it by himself just by watching Dean. He doesn’t look to Dean for any sign of approval either, which is good. Castiel doesn’t get a gold star for effectively opening a door. The kid’s an angel, for Christ’s sake.

“Wait,” Dean whips around to stare at Castiel who is just a few steps behind him. “Did you say you could travel through time?”

“Time is… fluid,” Castiel says. “It’s not easy, but we can bend it on occasion.”

Dean’s grin widens. “Dude, that’s awesome! What’s dream walking? How’s it work?”

“It’s similar to astral projection, but instead of entering the astral plane, I enter an unconscious mind. If I were ever unable to physically locate you, or if it were somehow unsafe to contact you through traditional means, I could appear to you in a dream.”

“What about for kicks?”

“For kicks? I don’t understand…”

“Would you ever pop in on somebody’s dream just for fun? Like to hang out with them in their dream world?”

“I… don’t use my celestial powers for recreational purposes.”

Dean snorts. “Big surprise.”

When Dean eats at Missy’s he usually sits at the bar. There’s this cute waitress working behind the counter who lavishes him with attention, and he enjoys the special treatment almost as much as he enjoys the pie. He’s not surprised by the strange look the hostess gives him when he asks to be seated in the most secluded booth in the restaurant.

But then her eyes light up in understanding when she catches a glimpse of Castiel standing behind him. Dean’s not sure what to make of that. Does she think he’s embarrassed to be seen with someone like Cas? The kid really does stand out like a sore thumb, with his crumpled trench coat, messy hair, skewed tie, and long, searching stares. He might as well have ‘freak’ written across his forehead in big block letters.

Yet Dean can’t help but feel a little defensive. He doesn’t like Castiel, and he already regrets bring him along, but he’s not _that_ bad.

The hostess tries to give them menus once they’re seated at the table, but neither Dean nor Castiel will accept. As soon as she leaves, Dean’s least favorite waitress saunters over with a pen and notepad.

 “What do you want?” she asks shortly.

 “You already know what I want,” Dean replies. “Why bother even asking?”

She glares at him. “So will you be having herbal tea with your vegan wrap?”

Oh god no.

“Please.” Dean shudders. “Don’t even joke about that. I have enough trouble getting to sleep at night as it is.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Will you be having _coffee_ with your _pie_?”

“Actually…” Dean spares Castiel a quick glance. “Can we get two hot chocolates?”

“Yeah, sure.” She scribbles something on the notepad and turns to address Castiel. “And what about you?”

Castiel looks up at the waitress with wide, curious eyes, tilts his head and asks, “What about me?”

Dean expects the waitress to snap at Cas. Hell, he wants to snap at Cas. The kid’s not stupid. He should be able to figure out what she’s talking about without extra cues.

But if anything her features soften, and she gives him one of those amused looks girls tend to reserve for baby animals. “What would you like to eat, hun?”

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

“He’ll have a cheeseburger,” Dean says when the silence becomes unbearable. “Cooked medium with a side of fries.”

“Will he now?” the waitress asks, directing the question at Castiel.

Cas nods silently. Obviously the kid’s communication skills need some work.

“And can I get two forks with that slice of pie?” Dean adds. Castiel did save his life, after all.

The waitress’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of them before finally settling on Castiel. “Are you actually friends with him?” she asks, pointing at Dean.

“No,” Castiel says, suddenly able to speak. “We share a more profound bond.”

Underneath the table, Dean kicks Castiel in the shin. “We don’t – ” he clears his throat. “We’re just classmates.”

 Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. “Why are you kicking me? My response was vague, and I didn’t reveal the true nature of our relationship.”

“ _Dude_.” Dean sighs hopelessly and puts his head in his hands.

“Teenagers…” the waitress sighs.

“Don’t mind him,” Castiel tells her. “He has personal problems.”

The little shit.

" _Anyways,_ your orders should be out soon," the waitress tells them. "You lucky ducks just missed the breakfast crowd.”

Dean doesn’t look up until he’s sure she’s gone. “Cas – ”

“Why did you order food for me?” Castiel asks, cutting him off. “I told you that I don’t need to eat.”

“Yeah, and I told you that wasn’t a good enough reason not to, and you weren’t saying anything so…”

This whole outing was obviously a huge mistake.

“I see,” Castiel says.

“And by the way,” Dean says. “A little humanity 101… If someone is kicking you under the table it means you should stop talking.”

“Next time I shall take that into consideration.”

They sit in a tense, uncomfortable silence until the nasty waitress returns with the hot chocolate.”

“I’m assuming these aren’t both for you?” she asks Dean, setting one mug down in front of him and the other down in front of Castiel.

“Thanks,” Dean says.

“They should be fine to drink now,” she tells him over her shoulder as she walks away. “Only our coffee is scalding hot.”

“You haven’t had this before?” Castiel asks, nudging the mug with a finger.

“Not here,” Dean replies. “I usually get coffee. But hot chocolate is good.” He takes a sip and smiles. “Even better than holy water.”

Castiel frowns. “I don’t understand why you didn’t just get us coffee if that’s what you prefer to drink.”

“Coffee can be kind of bitter, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” Dean shrugs. “I figure we’ll work up to it.”

“Oh… thank you.” Castiel takes a perfunctory sip. “It’s certainly warmer than holy water.”

“Not if you’re a demon,” Dean says with a smile.

Castiel laughs, and though the sound is somewhat jarring, it’s not completely unpleasant. Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea he’s ever had.

“What would you do if you had my powers?” Castiel asks.

Dean doesn’t have to think twice before answering. “I’d find my dad and help him with… whatever.”

Castiel gives him a strange look. “You wouldn’t use them for recreational purposes?”

“Oh,” Dean says. “I guess not.” Feeling tired suddenly, he closes his eyes. “I’d forgotten what I said to you earlier.”

“Dean?” Castiel calls after a beat of silence.

“Hmm?” Dean opens his eyes and sees that Castiel is staring at him again.

“Why are you like this?”

“Why am I like what?”

“You’re….” he searches for the right word, “ _inconsistent_.”

“Cas, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean tells him honestly.

“And why do you refer to me ‘Cas’ when you know very well that my name is _Castiel_.”

“It’s called a nickname,” Dean says. “It’s just a shortened version of your name. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?”

“I understand Anthroponomastics,” Castiel says tersely. You don’t have to define the word nickname for me.”

Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Then why are you wigging out?”

“Names may seem arbitrary but they’re not,” Castiel says. “Humans today don’t seem to appreciate the power and influence names have over souls. Your name connects you to your soul, and in certain contexts, changing one’s name can have severe consequences. I deserve to know your intentions. Is Cas supposed to be diminutive? Are you trying to express familiarity or is it simply for the sake of convenience?” He pauses and seems to consider Dean. “Or am I being ridiculed?”

 Dean doesn’t immediately reply. Castiel is clearly insane, and it’s going to take Dean a little bit of time to process that rant. The beginning was interesting. Dean wouldn’t mind hearing more about those “severe consequences” Castiel mentioned. He can kind of see now why Castiel was so upset about the name changing business. The guy obviously takes it seriously, and Dean was ready to accept that.

But Dean’s a little pissed that ‘ridicule’ made Castiel’s list of possible intentions. It’s like the guy is determined to see the worst in Dean.

“If you’re not feeling the name ‘Cas’ we could always call you ‘Castiel, Encyclopedia of the Lord,” Dean offers.

“So you _are_ mocking me.” It’s a statement not a question.

And now Dean is three second away from punching Castiel in the face. “Did you not hear me ask that bitchy waitress for two forks? I’m being nice to you!”

“The last time you were nice to me it was because you were trying to trick me into drinking holy water,” Castiel says. “It would be foolish _not_ to question your motivation for bringing me here, and I’m not a fool, Dean. So just tell me what it is you want from me.”

That’s not an unreasonable request, but just as Dean opens his mouth to defend himself, he catches sight of the waitress approaching with their food. The explanation can wait. He doesn’t want to risk a civilian overhearing him talking about the supernatural. That never ends well.

“You boys doin’ alright?” the waitress asks, setting the plates down on the table in front of them.

“Peachy,” Dean says, forcing a smile. To Dean’s relief she takes a hint and doesn’t stick around to chat.

Castiel looks down at his plate and then back up at Dean. “Is this really for me?” he asks.

“Well, yeah…” Dean says. “But if you’re very opposed eating we can ask her to box it up and I’ll give it to Sam.”

“I _have_ been curious about food,” Castiel admits.

Dean’s met some serious eaters in his travels, but he’s never seen anyone consume a hamburger so quickly or with such gusto.

“Good?” Dean asks, trying not to laugh.

Castiel nods his head. “I understand what you meant before when you said people eat because it makes them happy.”

“Just wait until you try the pie,” Dean says.

“You never gave me an answer,” Castiel says. “About why you brought me here, and why you felt the need to change my name.”

The girls Dean sleeps with are always asking similar questions about his intentions, and they always want to know why _this_ and why _that_ and blah, blah, blah _I need reassurance_. Dean knows exactly what to say because he knows exactly what Castiel needs to hear.

“I think you’re interesting,” Dean tells him. “You know things. I like people who know things. And as for your name… I guess Cas is more convenient. Castiel is kind of formal, and I’m not big on formalities. ”

Castiel sighs. “Perhaps I should just give up on trying to understand you.”

Dean Winchester is just not a man who was meant to be understood. Least of all by a scrawny angel in a dirty trench coat.

“Why are we still talking about this?” Dean asks. “I’ve still got my pie and you haven’t touched your fries!”

“I eat this with ketchup, right?” Castiel asks, holding up a single fry.

“They’re your fries, man.” Dean says. “Eat them however you want with whatever you want. It’s up to you.”

Castiel’s not as enthusiastic about the fries, but he still seemed to enjoy the taste-testing experience. Dean, being the saint that he is, allows Castiel to have two whole forkfuls of his pie. He should be given a medal for that.

“Shakespeare experimented with necromancy in his youth,” Castiel says, after Dean finishes telling him about the witches in Wichita.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not. He was a complete and utter failure at it, but he did try…”

“Well,” Dean laughs, “as long as he tried…”

“Oh!” Castiel gasps. “And do you remember the protagonist in that film you watched with your brother, _The Untouchables_?”

“You mean Elliot Ness?”

Castiel nods. “He was a hunter.”

Dean leans in and whispers,  “Like a _hunter,_ hunter?”

“Indeed,” Castiel gives him a tentative smile. “A hunter like you and your father.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Dean says. “I wonder if there will ever be a movie made about me.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel says, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “You may even be given your own gospel.”

“Who do you think they’d get to play me?” Dean asks. “Ethan Hawke might work.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s an actor. One of his movies is out in theaters right now, actually. It’s called _Gattaca_.”

Dean reminds himself several times that this doesn’t change anything. Cas is a freak. Dean has no intention of befriending a freak. After they leave the diner and part ways they’ll never spend any time together outside of school again. Dean won’t speak to him unless it’s absolutely necessary.

Yeah, and Sam’s going to shave his head and ask everyone to call him “Gunther.” And Bobby will sell the salvage yard and take up golf.

This is the most fun he’s had since moving to this dumb town, and he’ll be damned if he lets this cure for boredom slip through his fingers.

“Gattaca is an odd name,” Castiel says

“It’s biopunk,” Dean explains. “I’ve been wanting to see it but Sam refuses to come with me. He’s a nerd but he has no appreciation for sci-fi. I guess that means you’re up.”

“We’re going to the cinema?” Castiel asks, his tone both hopeful and intrigued.

“I mean, at some point we should,” Dean says with a shrug. “We could go see _The_ _Devil’s Advocate_. That sounds like your kind of movie, right?”

“No, Dean.” Castiel gives Dean a strange look. “No, it does not.”

So evidently the kid’s sense of humor could use some work too.

“We can do whatever we want, Cas,” Dean tells him. “There are a dozen movies playing in the theater right now and new ones are released every week.”

“I’ve actually…” Castiel rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve seen posters downtown… advertisements for different films…”

“And did something catch your eye?” Dean asks. He can’t figure out why the guy is being so shy all of the sudden.

“Not really.” Castiel says. “But I never thought I’d get an opportunity to…they all look wonderful…”

Dean stares at him. “It’s The Little Mermaid, isn’t it?” he guesses. “You want to see a G-rated Disney movie.”

Castiel blushes. “I’m well aware that I am not a member of the target audience for such a film,” he says. “But the animation… it’s fascinating. Some of you humans are quite clever.”

“You know, the first time they released that movie my dad actually took me and Sammy to see it.” Dean must have been nine or ten at the time, but it feels like that was a million years ago.

“Mermaids are real,” Castiel says. “Have you come across any in your travels?”

“What? No!”

They end up spending the next two hours sitting in that booth, talking about everything from mermaids to math class. Dean’s actually a little bummed when he looks at his watch and realizes how late it really is. If they don’t leave soon they might not make it back to school before the final bell rings. Sam will throw a bitch fit if Dean’s not there on time to give him a ride home.

Castiel actually looks surprised when Dean sits beside to him in class the next morning, but by the end of the day he seems to understand the new order.

Everything’s changed, Dean befriended the freak, and he doesn’t regret it. 

November doesn’t suck.

  

They’ve built their own tiny corner of the universe on the rooftop of the school gymnasium.

It’s cold enough for Dean to see his own breath, but he doesn’t plan on going inside any time soon. Cas looks content to stay out too. Dean is starting to suspect that angels don’t feel temperature the same way humans do, though their bodies seem to react normally. Cas was genuinely distraught when he experienced his first runny nose. They had been outside in the cold air discussing reapers when Cas abruptly stopped mid sentence to announce that his vessel was leaking and he needed to return to heaven immediately to have it inspected.

Angels are immune to human illnesses and they can heal almost any injury, but apparently ordinary conditions like a runny nose or a case of the hiccups are still part of the package. Dean just about died laughing. Cas was not nearly as amused.

“Have you ever seen snow?” Dean asks him.

Castiel blinks and replies, “I witnessed the Ice Age.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then you’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Castiel says irritably. “As I have explained to you on multiple occasions, I can’t read minds.”

“Alright,” Dean mulls it over for a moment and then asks, “Have you touched a snowflake before?”

“No.”

It sounds almost torturous to Dean. He can’t imagine what it must be like to see so much and yet feel so little. What kind of existence is that?

“Man, heaven sounds so boring,” Dean says. He exhales hot air into his cupped hands and rubs them together, trying to keep them from going numb. When he looks back up Castiel is glaring at him.

“Just because it’s not as chaotic as earth doesn’t mean it’s boring,” Castiel sniffs.

Dean suppresses a smile. Cas is much too easy to rile up. He’s mighty expressive for a guy who claims to be a stranger to emotion. When Dean looks at him he sees array of buttons just begging to be pushed.

“What do you do up there for fun?” he asks. “Are angels even allowed to have fun?”

“Following orders is fun,” Castiel says. “And… sometimes, some angels will gather to sing a joyful song.”

How precious.

“Are _you_ one of those angels that gather to sing a joyful song?” Dean asks innocently.

But Castiel is catching on. He glances away and shifts uncomfortably before muttering, “No, not me.”

“You are, aren’t you?” Dean says, goading him. “I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a choirboy!”

“I am _not_ a choirboy,” Castiel snaps.

They’re sitting side by side, their backs against the outside wall of the roof access stairwell landing, and Dean can feel the waves of heat and displeasure radiating off Cas’s body. Does bullying an angel earn you a one-way ticket to hell? Dean seriously hopes not because it’s kind of become his favorite thing in the world, right up there with bacon cheeseburgers and his baby.

“But you _do_ sing, right?” Dean asks.

“On occasion…” Castiel answers reluctantly.

“What do you sing about?”

Cas is quiet for a long moment. “God,” he finally mumbles, looking anywhere but up at Dean’s face.

“Of course you do,” Dean says, grinning from ear to ear. “Sing something for me now. I want to hear.”

“Dean,” Castiel says seriously. “The sound of my true voice would burst your eardrums and cause you considerable pain. Is that really what you want?”

“You’re that bad, huh?” Dean teases.

“It’s not about the sound. It’s about the sentiment.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. Is that really what they tell you? That it’s the thought that counts?”

“I suppose…” Castiel eyes him suspiciously. “Is that significant?”

“Well, here on earth, when someone gets you a gift that’s so crappy they have to apologize for it, you’re supposed to tell them that it’s the thought that counts, even though, nine times out of ten you really just think it’s crap and you’re planning on throwing it out.”

“I don’t…” Castiel presses his lips together and frowns. “I don’t have to apologize for my voice.”

“Are you sure about that, Cas?” Dean asks.

Castiel swallows. “Of – of course,” he says. “Why?”

“Do you think that could be the _real_ reason you were picked to come down here?” Dean asks meaningfully.

“Real reason?”

Dean nods. “It sounds to me like this whole thing has been an elaborate ruse to kick you out of the choir.”’

Castiel’s eyes widen. “That’s – ”

“Yeah, it’s ice cold,” Dean cuts in. “All those years of service and he gives you the Pete Best treatment…” Dean shakes his head. “God really is a diva, isn’t he?”

“What?” Castiel gasps. “No! No, of course not!”

“He’s the worst kind of diva,” Dean says. “God made this whole mission up just because he wouldn’t have to tell you how much you suck at singing. Isn’t that an abuse of power? Kind of cowardly too, if you ask me.”

“ _Dean!_ ”

Dean’s been trying so hard not to laugh but there’s only so much he can take. It’s something about the way Cas says Dean’s name, almost like he can’t decide whether he means to threaten or to plead, and it just sends Dean over the edge. And then Dean is laughing harder then he’s laughed in a very long time, and the look of horror on Cas’s face just makes it worse.

“It’s not funny!” Castiel cries, looking about three seconds away from a total meltdown. “God is _not_ a diva and there’s nothing wrong with my voice. Stop laughing! It’s not funny. Really, Dean, it’s _blasphemy_. You must stop laughing! _Dean!_ ”

“Relax, relax.” Breathless, Dean swings an arm around Castiel’s shoulder and bumps knees with him. “I’m just messing with you.”

He gives Cas a minute or two to silently fume because he’s just that generous. Eventually, Castiel exhales and sags, and Dean knows he’s been forgiven.

November might just be his favorite month of the year.

 

“Warrior.” Dean murmurs absently. He and Castiel are on the roof again. Dean’s supposed to be studying for a bio test and Cas, the nerd, has his nose a book Dean brought him from Bobby’s library.

Castiel makes a thoughtful noise but doesn’t look up from his book. “Did you say something?”

“Yeah, I was going to ask, …” Dean waits until Cas has lifted his gaze to continue. “Remember how you told me angels were warriors?”

“Yes.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away, and Cas seems to take this as permission to return to his reading. Dean’s a little miffed that Cas would rather get lost in a smelly book than talk to him.

“What did you mean by warrior?” Dean asks, deciding to give it another shot.

“I’m a combat soldier,” Cas replies, and this time his eyes never stray from the pages in front of him.

Dean waits until Cas is fully engrossed in the book to interrupt. “So you fight in wars?”

Castiel raises the book an inch, blocking Dean’s view of his face. “Yes.”

Oh, no he did _not_.

Determined, Dean stays silent for several minutes, lulling Cas into a false sense of security. He knows Cas is waiting for him to interrupt again, and Dean has every intention of doing just that, but not before Cas relaxes. It’s more gratifying this way.

Castiel’s grip on the book loosens and that’s Dean signal to go. “Wars against who?”

“Demons, mostly,” Castiel replies, calm and still focused on the text. “I’m too young to remember the angel rebellions.”

This time Dean has to wait a full ten minutes. “Angel rebellions?” he asks.

If Castiel is at all irritated by Dean’s pestering he doesn’t let it show. “Do you not know the stories of the fallen angels?”

“Cas, man,” Dean replies without delay. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Sam and me aren’t exactly the bible school types…”

“That’s just as well,” Castiel says, and the book really must be something special because he’s still staring. “The information in biblical text is generally inaccurate. Though you might still find the Books of Enoch and perhaps portions of The Dead Sea Scrolls interesting reads.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” Dean asks, not pleading and certainly not whining.

“Yes,” Castiel says, and then three page turns later. “I can tell you.”

“Good.” Dean smiles and… “Cas?” he asks, after another five page turns.

“Dean?” Castiel’s face is still hidden but Dean can hear the smirk. The little shit is trying to beat him at his own game! Does Cas really think that Dean has nothing better to do then sit and watch him read? “Aren’t you supposed to be studying right now?” Castiel asks, reading Dean’s mind.

Cas, of course, insists that he can’t read minds, but that’s hardly his most annoying quality. It’s all the goddamn nagging that’s driving Dean insane. Cas is always trying to keep him from having any fun. He claims that it’s for Dean’s safety, but Dean’s starting to wonder if Cas just wants him to suffer.

Dean hasn’t been to a party since October and he hasn’t been with a girl in weeks. He was Sammy’s age the last time he went so long without getting laid. 

“Screw studying.” Dean sighs. “We could be having sex right now, you know.”

“We?” Castiel echoes, slowly lowering the stupid book. “As in you and I?”

“Sure.” Dean shrugs carelessly. “You’re not that bad looking.” And it’s true. There are definitely less attractive guys in their classes.

“I’m… I’m not?” Castiel’s hand flies to his face. “You approve of my vessel?"

Dean gives another noncommittal shrug. “I think that Meg chick is into you.”

Castiel opens and closes his mouth several times. “Meg?” he manages finally.

“Meg from history?” Dean’s not thrilled with the way she stares at Cas like he’s her next meal, but the poor guy doesn’t really have any other options. He has the sexuality of a potted plant.

“Of course.” Castiel laughs, and it’s that awkward forced chuckle Dean’s come to kind of hate. “Meg from bio. Yes, of course.”

“She’s pretty cute,” Dean offers. “She’s not really _my_ type, but you could do worse.”

Castiel nods his head and lays the stupid book on ground. “You… you wanted to know about the war in heaven and the fallen angels?”

“Does that mean it’s story time? ” Dean grins because this is really all he needs in life. The only thing missing is a slice of pie. “You know how much I love story time.”

“Yes, it’s time for a story.” Castiel rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “Where shall I begin?”

“Ideally with the fallen angel thing,” Dean says. “And I want the uncut, unrated version, okay?”

Castiel gives Dean a sideways look. “Censorship is a human invention.”

“Is that part of the story?” Dean asks.

Castiel sighs. “A fallen angel is an angel that has been cast out of heaven,” he explains. “Usually forcibly after a defeat in battle, or after committing a sin in an effort to escape punishment.”

“Does that happen often?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Most angels never even consider disobedience.”

“Why not?”

“Our orders come from god,” Castiel says simply.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “So?”

“We were created to serve him. To disobey his orders would be to go against our nature. That’s why most angels who fall – they fall because they have been led astray by a superior. They’re still following orders, but the orders are from a false god. It’s a form of idolatry.”

“That makes sense… I guess.” It doesn’t really, but the explanation was boring so Dean’s not going to push for more. He’s also not sure he’s ready to broach the topic of free will again. Not yet at least.

“The angel who led the first rebellion was also the first to fall,” Castiel explains. “You may have heard of him.”

“Yeah?”

Castiel nods. “His name is Lucifer.”

“You mean the devil?” Dean asks.

“Yes. Satan was once an archangel. Some say that he was our father’s favorite and that his grace burned more brightly then any star in the sky. He was not the strongest or the most powerful but he had… charisma. Many angels looked up to him, and he reveled in the adoration. His sin was pride.”

“So what happened?”

“You happened,” Castiel says. “Humanity. None of us truly comprehended how much god had given to man until recently.”

“What do you mean by recently?” Dean asks suspiciously.

“Five or six million years ago. We knew our father had big plans for man, but it wasn’t until the first bipeds emerged that we realized how special you were. Watching the evolution of humanity was… entertaining. When he told us that we were to serve man we thought little of it. We assumed that our role would be similar to…” Castiel hesitates, probably searching for the right word. “Zookeepers,” he says finally. “But that changed when we learned of your sentience.”

“I thought you said you were young!”

“I am!” Castiel insists. “I was, by celestial standards, a child until 30,000 B.C. Now, like you,” he gestures at Dean, “I am on the cusp of adulthood.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “If you say so…”

“I do,” Castiel says, giving Dean an odd look. “Anyways, When Lucifer saw what you were becoming, and what you were doing with our father’s gifts he began to… doubt. He questioned god’s judgment and encouraged others to disobey. He argued that man was evil and many angels agreed.

“So the rebellion was like a protest?”

“No. As I told you before, pride was Lucifer’s greatest sin. My father loves humanity and could not tolerate Lucifer’s aspersions, so he rebuked him.” Castiel grimaces. “After that Lucifer recruited an army and declared war.”

“Damn.” Lucifer sounds like a little bitch.

“The actual battle didn’t last very long,” Castiel continues explaining. “The rebels were outnumbered and, as bright as he may have been, Lucifer was no match for Michael. Some angels believe that Lucifer knew that he wasn’t strong enough to beat Michael but – Lucifer and Michael were very close. Lucifer thought that sentiment would prevent Michael from joining the fight. But he miscalculated. Michael is the strongest archangel and the captain of the heavenly host. He was unaffected by sentiment, as all angels should be. So when god told him to send Lucifer to hell he obeyed.”

Dean frowns. “Michael’s the one I’m supposed to somehow help right? If he’s such a badass what does he need me for?”

“You know that I don’t have that kind of information, Dean,” Castiel says. “I would tell you if I could.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mutters. “So you weren’t involved in the war?”

“Not in that particular war, no,” Castiel says. “But I have taken part in many others.”

“Been in any cool battles recently?” Dean likes the mental image of Cas kicking demon ass.

“No, but I have been doing my best to keep this region of the country free of monsters and demons.”

Dean gasps, outraged. “Are you telling me that you’ve been hunting?” he demands. “ _Without me?_ ”

Castiel crosses his arms, obviously sensing Dean’s displeasure. “It’s my job to ensure your safety.”

“I can’t believe you go hunting without me! You know how bored I’ve been!”

“I’m supposed to keep you out of harm’s way, not lead you into it.” Castiel shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t take you with me.”

“Because it would be disobedient?”

“Because it would be stupid.”

Dean surprises himself by laughing. “So what about the other fallen angels then?”

“Others?”

“Yeah, you said ‘usually after a defeat in battle.’ Why do other angels fall?”

Castiel tilts his head back and stares up at the sky. “Sometimes it’s not clear,” he says, speaking to the clouds. “Sometimes they don’t tell anyone why. Sometimes they just tear out their grace and fall.”

“Oh.” Dean doesn’t like Cas’s new pensive frown. He’s not sure how to respond to Cas’s words so he just says nothing.

“Thank you for bringing me the book, Dean,” Castiel says after a minute or two of silence, leaning in to pat Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, well, you’re the worst,” Dean says, snatching his hand away. “So don’t get used to it.

“What?” Castiel scowls. “Why?”

“You went hunting without me!” Dean’s tone is harsh, but there’s a smile on his lips and amusement in his eyes. “I want to see you smite some demons! Last time I was only semiconscious. I missed it. That’s not fair.”

“Do you remember what you told me last week to justify cheating on the math quiz?” Castiel asks.

“Nope.”

“Life isn’t fair.” Castiel picks up the stupid stinky book and cracks it open. “Get used to it.”

Dean wants to strike back with something sharp and witty but he’s just not feeling it. Maybe just this once he’ll let Cas have the last word.

 

“Hello?” Dean says into the phone receiver, his mouth full of pie.

“Hey, Kiddo, how’s it goin’?”

Dean swallows, the slice of pie he’s been enjoying now feels like lead in his stomach.

“Not bad.”

“You been taking care of your brother?” asks John.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

“How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“You giving your teachers any trouble?”

“No, sir.”

The silence seems to stretch on for an eternity.

“Is Sammy around?” John asks finally.

“Hold on,” says Dean. “Lemme check.”

They both know Dean’s not checking to see if Sam’s home. It’s Deans job to know if Sam is home without having to check. They both know he’s really checking to see if Sam’s willing to talk, if Sam’s ready to talk.

And to Dean’s surprise he is.

 

They’re twelve minutes into third period when Dean decides that he’s had enough. He glances over at Castiel, who’s sitting at a desk two rows to his left. Usually they’re able to snag two directly adjacent desks, and Dean feels a pang of annoyance whenever he and Cas can’t sit next to each other. How is he supposed to tell Cas that it’s time to jet when he’s so far away?

But Castiel must be able to feel Dean’s attention, because when Dean looks at him, he turns his head and their eyes meet. Dean doesn’t have to do or say anything. Cas just knows. Castiel raises his hand and asks the teacher for permission to leave and visit the school nurse. (I have a painful burning sensation, ma’am). Dean leaves class a few minutes later (I gotta take a leak).

They meet at the foot of the roof-access staircase and make the climb together.

“Sometimes I don’t believe you when you say you don’t read my mind,” Dean tells him.

Castiel sighs. “You were squirming.”

“Squirming?” Dean repeats. “I don’t squirm.”

“But you do,” Castiel says. “Like a worm.”

Dean tries his hardest to look affronted but he can’t help laughing. “You’re one to talk!” he says. “You walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

Castiel frowns. “I can assure you that is not the case.”

“What I mean is… you have tense posture.”

“I see.” His frown deepens. “I fear that I don’t put adequate effort into blending in.”

The stairwell is narrow and Dean can almost feel Castiel’s dismay, but it’s hard to sympathize. The kid is such an eyesore that sometimes Dean wonders if he’s trying to stand out, and it doesn’t seem like he puts any effort at all into blending in.

When Dean reaches the top of the stairs he turns around to address Castiel, who is just a few steps behind him.

“You’re never going to blend in,” Dean says. “Might as well accept it and move on.”

“But Dean – ” Castiel begins to protest.

“I get it,” Dean interrupts. “You’re like… valedictorian up there in heaven, right?”

“In a sense.” Castiel nods slowly. “I don’t want to sound boastful, but I have made a name for myself on the battlefield.”

“I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve actually struggled and failed?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Dean says, “take it from someone who has a lot of experience failing. No one gets to be good at everything. It’s not the end of the world if you can’t convince a bunch of self-absorbed teenagers that you’re not a complete weirdo.”

Castiel gives him an unreadable look. “Thank you for the wisdom,” he says, and Dean can’t tell whether he’s being sarcastic or not.

They sit in their usual spot. There’s a slight breeze and Dean has to repeatedly resist the urge to reach out and tuck Castiel’s tie into his shirt to stop it from flapping.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you about something,” Dean says to him.

“I’m happy to answer your questions when I can,” Castiel says. “So feel free to ask.”

“What’s up with your clothes?”

“My clothes?”

Dean nods. “You wear the same thing everyday.”

“It’s my understanding that the adolescent male only changes his clothes when they become unsuitably dirty and begin to smell,” Castiel explains. “And, as you can see, my clothes are neither soiled nor odiferous.”

“I figured it was something like that.”

Castiel shrugs. “Not to mention the fact that I don’t have any other clothes to wear.”

“What made you pick what you have on now?” Dean asks curiously.

“I didn’t choose,” Castiel says. “This is what Jimmy was wearing when he died.”

“Oh.” Dean shudders. “That’s not creepy.”

“He was on his way to church when the accident happened.”

“How –”

“It had been raining,” Castiel says, not reading Dean’s mind. “The roads were slippery and his tires were bald. It was a surprise for us too. Only Death knows when a life is due to end. We were given a rare opportunity and I was dispatched immediately.”

“I don’t think of Jimmy’s body as your vessel,” Dean admits. “I don’t even think of it as Jimmy’s body. I look at you… and I see you.”

Castiel tilts his head and gives Dean a shy smile. “I am growing accustomed to taking this form too. ”

“Your vessel is kind of like the Impala.”

“How so?”

“I’m not the first person to sit in the drivers seat, but that doesn’t make her any less mine. Sam says he can always tell when it’s me behind the wheel, because I handle her differently. I bet anything that I’d be able to tell if it were anyone but you in there.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Dean smiles and asks, “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s a unique experience, unlike any other.”

“So it sucks,” Dean says, smile fading.

“Not always,” Castiel says quickly. “Sometimes I rather enjoy inhabiting this vessel.”

“You don’t have to say that kind of thing just so I won’t feel guilty, you know,” Dean tells him.

“Guilty?” Castiel furrows his brow. “Why should you feel guilty?”

“If it weren’t for me you’d be free,” Dean says. “It’s my fault you’re trapped in a vessel.”

Castiel gives him another funny look and then says, “You’re the best part about being on earth. Even if it means having to take a vessel, there’s no where else in the universe I’d rather be.”

His words make Dean feel strange and bubbly, so naturally Dean has to question them. “I don’t believe you,” he says. “You’re just saying that.”

“This is your problem, Dean,” Castiel says sagely. “You have no faith.”

“Ugh,” Dean groans. “You’re so embarrassing!”

Castiel stands up and dusts off the seat of his coat. “I read that humans like to proclaim truths from the rooftops,” he says. “Loudly.”

“What?” Dean feels the color drain from his face. “No, Cas,” he says, rushing to his feet. “Don’t you dare!”

Castiel brings his cupped hands to his mouth and shouts, “DEAN WINCHESTER HAS NO FAITH!”

“Shut up!’ Dean hisses, lunging at him and missing.

“I, CASTIEL, ANGEL OF THE LORD, STIILL BELIEVE HIM TO BE THE BEST PART OF MY TIME ON EARTH!”

“I’m going to kill you!” Dean doubts that anyone will hear Castiel’s words, but he’s mortified nonetheless.

“THERE’S NO PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE – ”

Dean’s second attack is successful in that it puts an end to Castiel’s shouting, but it also, unfortunately, involves tackling him to the ground, and, Castiel, the little shit, brings Dean down with him.

Castiel at least has the decency to use his body to cushion Dean’s fall. Since Dean’s stopped hunting, he’s had far fewer injuries and he’d like to keep it that way. Cas is pretty bony but still a great deal softer than cement. He’s warmer too. Castiel Angel of the Lord would make a mighty fine pillow.

But Dean’s not about to tell him that. It’s a compliment and Cas doesn’t deserve to be complimented.

Dean rolls over so he’s no longer lying on top of Castiel and says, “You’re the worst.”

“Did I get it wrong?” Castiel asks innocently. “Do humans _not_ enjoy shouting from the rooftops?”

“In movies maybe.”

Castiel turns and gives him a knowing look. “Do you still feel guilty?”

Dean sits up. “Did you just try to teach me a lesson?” he asks, incredulously.

“Maybe.”

“Cas, Cas, Cas…” Dean shakes his head.

“Hmm?”

Dean flashes him a smug grin. “Thank you for the wisdom.”

 

“Let’s go for a drive,” Dean says. He and Castiel are lying on the cold concrete and using their backpacks as head pillows. They’re supposed to be cloud watching, but neither of them has spoken for a good twenty minutes.

“Let’s _not_ go for a drive,” Castiel says. “The car is confining and you’re a reckless driver.

Dean sits up and turns to give Castiel a pleading look. “This is getting boring. You can’t tell me you’re not feeling it too.”

“We could go for a walk,” Castiel suggests hopefully.

“I don’t have a portable radio to take with us.”

“Radio?” Castiel sits up. “Why do we need a radio?”

“I think it’s about time we got started your musical education,” Dean says.

“Oh…” Castiel gives Dean a strange, shy smile. “I’d very much enjoy…” his voice trails off and he simply nods. “Yes. Yes, let’s go for a drive.”

But an hour later the lesson isn’t going as well as Dean hoped it would.

“I can’t believe you don’t like Black Sabbath or Van Halen.”

Castiel sighs. “I never said that, Dean. All I said was that I found their music somewhat abrasive. I didn’t mind Led Zeppelin or The Allman Brothers.”

“Didn’t mind – ” Dean groans. “Cas, man you’re killing me.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “It’s just a lot of the music you like is very… loud.”

“I know.” Dean laughs. “Hence the awesomeness.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Castiel says.

“Well, not everyone can be enlightened, I guess.” Dean checks his watch. “We should probably turn around now. I don’t want to make Sammy wait around too long.”

“Don’t forget that you promised on our way back we could try some different stations,” Castiel says.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Dean says, making a U-turn.

“Dean…”

“Alright, Alright.” Dean flashes him a smile. “Cool your jets, I was only messing with you.”

“So I can change the station?” Castiel asks, reaching for the radio dial.

“Hell, no!” Dean slaps Castiel’s hand away. “I’ll change it.”

Castiel pouts. “What! Why?”

“Can’t risk exposing you to pop music,” Dean says. “I don’t trust you not to like it.”

“I see.” Castiel crosses his arms and turns away to look out the window.

Oh, please. Dean has to deal with Sam’s mood swings on a regular basis, and Castiel’s sulkiness isn’t even in the same league.

“I’ll give you a choice,” Dean offers.

“Oh joy.”

Dean can’t help laughing. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know.”

“You’re obnoxious when you breathe,” Castiel says, still with his back turned.

These days, kitten’s got claws, and he’s not afraid to use them. Dean likes Castiel best when he’s got little fire in his eyes. It’s easy to forget that Castiel isn’t Sam because, on the surface, they’re both whiney, uptight nerds. When Dean first started spending time with Cas, he found himself slipping into big brother mode far too often. It didn’t take him long to grow out of it. Castiel doesn’t much act like a little brother.

Castiel acts like Castiel. The kid’s inimitable. He’s extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Dean’s torn between the urge to rile him up and watch him fume, and the desire to make him happy

“If the hard rock was really too much for you we can take it down a notch.” Dean says. “We can try either soft rock or folk rock next.”

Castiel finally stops pretending to be interested in the highway markers and turns to face Dean. “What’s the difference?” he asks.

“Well,” Dean scratches his head, “folk rock is less electric, I guess.”

“Let’s try that one then,” Castiel says.

“Awesome.” Dean points to the glovebox. “In there you should find a cassette tape labeled ‘acoustic-shit.’”

Dean’s feeling so generous he even lets Cas pop the tape into the player.

“What are we listening to now?” Castiel asks.

“I can’t hear,” Dean says. “Turn it up.”

Castiel gives him a look. “Am I allowed to touch the volume dial?”

“Just this once,” Dean says, smiling sweetly at him. “And only because you asked so nicely.”

The tape they’re listening to is one of Sam’s mixes, and it rarely (if ever) gets any play. Dean’s not averse to other rock genres, but he’s a total control freak when it comes to the radio.”

“I like this,” Castiel says after a minute or two. “What’s this one called?”

“Uh, Suite Judy Blue Eyes, by Crosby, Stills and Nash,” Dean tells him. “What do you like about it?”

Castiel is quiet and after a moment says, “I don’t know how to explain why I like it. I just do.”

“I can respect that,” Dean says. “You don’t need to have a reason. I was just curious.”

After listening to a few more songs it becomes apparent that, while Castiel has no problem justifying his dislikes, he can’t seem to articulate what attracts him to particular a song or artist.

“Who is this?” Castiel asks, pointing to the radio with his pen. He’s got his notebook in his lap, and he’s making two lists; one for the artists he does like and one for the artists he doesn’t.

“Leonard Cohen,” Dean glances over at the notebook and sees Castiel writing the name in the ‘dislike’ column right under – “Hold up,” Dean says. “What’s wrong with Def Leppard?”

“Dean…” Castiel sighs. “For both our sakes…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean says. “I don’t want to fight about this stuff either.”

“Do you have a tape for soft rock too?” Castiel asks.

“Nah, but there’s a semi-decent radio station.” Dean even considered letting Castiel find it himself, but that was before he saw Def Leppard on the shit list.

“I prefer this station to the first,” Castiel announces after hearing two measly songs, and adding Don McLean and James Taylor to his ‘likes’ list.

“Then you should buy your own car,” Dean tells him. “There are rules, you know.”

“Rules?”

“Yeah.” Dean smirks. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

By the time they reach the school parking lot, Eric Carmen and Rod Stewart have been added to the ‘dislikes,’ while Cat Stevens, Neil Young, Fleetwood Mac, and a Coke jingle have all make the ‘likes’ list.

“School doesn’t end for another fifteen minutes,” Castiel says. “That gives us plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time for what?” Dean asks.

“Coca-Cola,” Castiel replies. “Plenty of time for us to quench our thirst with an ice cold bottle of Coca-Cola.”

Dean laughs. “Cas, man, you don’t even get thirsty.”

Castiel is quiet for a moment. “Maybe I do and I just don’t realize it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes…” Castiel shifts in his seat. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled. Like there’s a void inside of me, but instead of filling it, I allow it to grow. And then there’s this yearning…”

Yeah… no, Dean’s not going to talk with Cas about his _feelings_.

 “Well, that’s what you get for hunting without me,” Dean says. “You should stretch. Your muscles are probably just sore.”

“But I need to be refreshed,” Castiel says, much too seriously. “Coca-Cola will refresh me. The advertisement promised.”

“Cas…” Dean can’t help but laugh again. “First of all, just call it _Coke_.”

“But isn’t ‘coke’ also slang for cocaine?” Castiel asks. “I don’t want anyone to get confused…”

“Nobody’s going to get confused,” Dean assures him. “And if you really are thirsty and want something refreshing there’s a jug of holy water in the trunk. I shouldn’t have to tell you that Coke is basically carbonated water and high fructose corn syrup.”

“Oh.”

“You really want to be feeding that to your vessel?”

Frowning deeply, Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking, but by the fifth time I heard that little song I knew I needed to be refreshed.”

There’s no way Dean is ever going to let Cas watch television. If he’s that susceptible to radio commercials, he won’t stand a chance against TV infomercials.

“You don’t need to be refreshed.” Dean says. “You’re perfectly fine just the way you are, okay?

“Okay.”

“Did you at least enjoy your musical education?” Dean asks.

At this Castiel brightens. “Indeed I did,” he says. “It exceeded my expectations.”

“How so?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t think you’d actually try to help me define my taste,” Castiel replies.

Dean’s wishes Castiel wouldn’t act so damn surprised any time he does something nice for him. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, at least.”

“We should do it again.”

“We should,” Dean agrees. “Maybe on a Saturday or Sunday so I won’t have to worry about getting back in time to give Sam a ride home.”

And as if on cue, the school bell rings, and Castiel disappears. Dean’s told him multiple times that it’s okay if he stays, but Cas always insists on leaving.

The guy really sucks at saying goodbye.

  

It’s cold. Like really freaking cold. Way too cold to be out on the rooftop. Dean wants to suggest going back inside but Cas is giving off weird vibes, weirder than usual at least. His lips keep twitching as if he wants to speak but doesn’t know how. Dean’s going to give him five minutes to start talking before he drags him back inside the school.

Three minutes pass by before Castiel finally opens his mouth.

“I dislike English class,” he says. “I don’t see the purpose in further elevating the prestige of the English language.”

Clearly it had been a mistake to assume that Cas actually had something important to talk about, but it’d be kind of a dick move call it quits now.

“Well,” Dean says, deciding to roll with it. “What exactly were you expecting? _Dead Poet’s Society_?”

Castiel, who had been staring resolutely out into the distance since the moment they sat down, finally turns to look at Dean and says, “I don’t understand that reference.”

Sometimes Dean is taken aback by how blue Cas’s eyes are, and just how little regard he has for personal space. Or, at least, how little regard he has for Dean’s personal space. The dude manages to control himself around other students, but with Dean he seems to just gravitate to his side like magnetism.

They’ve been having their rooftop chats almost everyday for over a month, and Dean’s no closer to understanding Cas now then he was the morning he met him. Dean’s never really been a huge fan of puzzles, but Castiel he doesn’t mind. He’s good company.

“Is it boring for you?” Dean asks. “I keep thinking that angel brains have their own Rosetta Stones.”

“I am fluent in every human language, both dead and alive,” Castiel replies before blinking and letting his gaze drift back over to the nothingness that surrounds them.

“Guess that explains why you’re the only kid passing Latin class,” Dean remarks dryly, and he’s surprised when the words don’t earn him even the tiniest of smiles.

Cas has never really been a big ball of sunshine, but he doesn’t usually look like he’s contemplating launching himself off the edge of the rooftop. He’s brooding. Apparently angels brood too.

“Dean, I…” it’s all he can manage before his voice breaks and his words die in his throat.

Dean frowns. “What’s going on with you, man?” he asks.

“I feel…” Castiel swallows, “unwell when I think about the presentation I must give after the break. “

“You mean you’re nervous?”

Castiel nods once, hesitantly, and replies, “I believe so, yes.”

“About what?”

“Specifically?” He shifts so he can finally face Dean. “I don’t know.”

“You can smite demons with one hand,” Dean says. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a room full of teenagers.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Castiel says, explaining, “I just don’t want to embarrass myself by making a mistake.” He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t enjoy being laughed at.”

It’s really not a big deal. All Cas has to do is stand up there and talk about Shakespeare for a couple of minutes and then it’s over. Admittedly, it was vindictive and cruel of their teacher to assign Cas the topic ‘Shakespeare in pop culture.’ But Dean would have never guessed that something as powerful as Cas could be afraid of something this stupid.

“I laugh at you all the time,” Dean says.

“That’s different,” Castiel says, very matter of fact. “I find the sound of your laughter pleasing.”

“Oh.”

This would be so much easier if he had Sam with him. Sam’s good at this comforting crap, whereas Dean can’t figure out how to do it without sounding like a complete pansy.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Castiel says. “I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”

Dean’s tempted to change the subject, but this time he doesn’t need to listen Sam’s nagging voice in his head to know that letting this go would be cruel. He’s going to have to suck it up and try not to make it worse.

“No, Cas, buddy,” Dean stops and sighs. “Listen, if you screw up it’s not the end of the world.”

“I know that.”

“And… I’ll be there to… you know… support you and whatever.”

“That’s… well, that’s very…” Castiel tries to smile and fails miserably. “Thank you, Dean.

“Yeah, so,” Dean clears his throat and claps a hand on Castiel’s scrawny shoulder, “suck it up and carpe diem, alright?”

Castiel nods, and Dean suggests that they head back in and go to class. Dean does his best to pretend the conversation never happened, and Castiel doesn’t bring it up again.

 

Dean’s been waiting by the Impala for twenty-seven minutes when Sam finally shows.

“You’re late,” Dean tells him.

“Sorry, I had to talk to a teacher.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Good or bad?”

“Good,” Sam says. “It was about an extra credit project.”

Dean can see straight through the lie but decides not to push it. Not quite yet.

“You’re such a nerd,” he says, playing along. “How are we even related?”

Sam just rolls his eyes.

 

It’s Christmas Eve. Bobby is out running mysterious errands, and Sam is holed up in his room, sulking. John hasn’t called in at least a week, and Sam’s attempts to reach him have been unsuccessful. Dean is grateful for Castiel’s company because without him he’d be completely alone.

Never in a million years would Dean admit that he sometimes, occasionally, very rarely gets a tiny bit lonely when he and Cas aren’t hanging out like normal people.

Dean spends most of his free time exploring the salvage yard and trying to fix up old junkers in the garage, and more often then not, Castiel tags along. Since Cas’s cover would be blown if anyone caught Dean conversing with his disembodied voice, Cas stays visible and they use discretion when Sam or Bobby are in earshot.

“Do you have to go home tonight?” Dean asks Castiel. They’re both sitting on the floor, and Cas is helping Dean sort through and organize all of his tools. It was Cas’s idea of course. He’s the neat freak, not Dean.

“Home?” Castiel looks up at Dean curiously. “Why would I have to go home?”

Dean shrugs. “Tomorrow’s Christmas and you’re an angel.”

“So?”

“Isn’t Christmas a big deal upstairs too?”

Castiel shakes his head. “We don’t celebrate religious holidays. Not in the way you humans do.”

“Bummer,” Dean says, watching Castiel once again immerse himself in organizing. “I was picturing the most epic office Christmas party where everyone drinks too much eggnog, and then all of the angels fly down to earth for drunken shenanigans.”

“Somehow I don’t think my father would approve of such behavior,” Castiel says. “Especially not after Phanuel.”

“Phanuel?”

“One of my brothers,” Castiel explains. “Several thousand years ago he was involved in a… mishap.”

“Oh?” Dean grins. “Do tell.”

If he were religious he might have a better appreciation for Castiel’s stories, but it’s likely he’d also find them far less amusing. Castiel’s version of events tends to stray from the biblical version, and Dean’s not really a “crisis of faith” type guy.

Castiel sighs but doesn’t look up from his task. “Phanuel’s mishap is not considered appropriate for polite conversation.”

“Now you have to tell me,” Dean argues. “You can’t make a disclaimer like that and then not follow through.” He nudges Cas with his knee. “Besides, we don’t do pretenses.”

“I know.” Castiel flashes him a small smile and the garage feels just a little bit warmer and a little bit brighter. “I never said I wouldn’t share the story.”

“You should do that more often,” Dean says without thinking.

Castiel looks up. “Share stories?”

“No,” Dean says. “Smile.”

“Oh.” Castiel tilts his head and stares. “Why?”

“It’s your face,” Dean says, gesturing vaguely. “You look less weird when you smile.”

The remark may sound like a backhanded compliment but Dean’s being sincere. He’s just yet to figure out how to be nice without coming off as a total douchebag.

Castiel’s smile fades to a frown, and Dean’s kind of at a loss. Castiel has a spine now, and these days he doesn’t take Dean’s shit lying down. If he were insulted he’d be glaring and giving Dean sassy celestial backtalk. His silence and furrowed brow make him seem more troubled than angry.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asks. “I just said something nice!”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, looking away.

“The hell you are,” Dean says, punching him in the arm. “That was your Christmas present. The least you can do is act a little bit grateful!” He shakes his head. “Next year I’m getting you socks.”

“I am grateful,” Castiel insists. “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“I only feel like smiling when I’m with you,” Castiel says. “But when I’m with you I don’t care about looking weird.” He puts his head in his hands and groans. “I’m never going to get it right, and it's all your fault.”

"My fault? It's not my fault you think too much." Dean tells him. “And do you really not care about looking weird when you’re with me? I care about you looking weird. You acting like a complete freak doesn't refelct well on me either..."

Castiel nudges Dean with his knee and says, “No pretenses, remember?”

“Not even for the sake of my reputation?” Dean asks, half serious.

“I wasn’t aware that you cared about something so trivial,” Castiel replies. “Especially since you’re the one who encouraged me to stop worrying about how others perceive me.”

Cas basically just called him a big fat hypocrite, and Dean would strike back if it weren’t for that fact that Cas is absolutely right. Dean’s not going to deny the truth.

“Who said I was worried?” he asks instead.

Castiel stares at Dean for a long moment. “You wouldn’t want me here if I were normal.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Normal is boring,” Castiel says simply. “As are normal people.”

Dean really couldn’t agree more.

“You know, I had a soft spot for you back when I thought you were a misguided stalker,” Dean tells him.

“Really?” Castiel muses. “I can’t say I was particularly keen on you back when I thought you were an arrogant buffoon.”

Dean laughs good-naturedly. “That’s fair,” he says. “I wasn't exactly your prince charming, now was I?”

They spend a few minutes silently sorting through a box of nails and screws before either of them speaks again.

“I’ve never met Phanuel,” Cas says eventually. “We’re not in the same class. He’s one of my superiors.”

“What’d he do?” Dean asks, making no effort to hide his intrigue.

“Several thousand years ago he was close with another archangel, Gabriel. The two would allegedly take sabbaticals to Hebron, and they had the tendency to – how do you put it? ‘Go native’ during these retreats.”

“You mean they partied?”

Castiel nods. “Phanuel and Gabriel appreciated ancient Canaanite culture and did all they could to embrace it, which meant partaking in some… questionable customs.”

“Sounds like fun,” Dean says.

“Are you familiar with the biblical account of Jacob wrestling with an angel?” Castiel asks.

Dean shrugs. “More or less.”

“Well, the angel Jacob fought with was Phanuel,” Castiel says. “Granted, he was apparently heavily inebriated at the time.”

“Did he get into a lot of trouble?” Dean asks. Drunken brawls are a Winchester family tradition. Dean can’t imagine John ever having a problem with one of his sons tossing back a few beers and getting into a fight with supernatural creature.

“Phanuel is… special,” Castiel says delicately. “He was spared punishment, as was Gabriel, but the incident put an end to their sabbaticals, and now most angels avoid the consumption of alcohol.”

“So you’re telling me that you’ve never gone to a party and gotten wasted?”

“No,” Castiel answers stiffly. “Nor have I had the desire to.”

But Dean’s having none of that.

“Gordon Walker is having a New Year’s party,” he tells Cas. “I heard that his parties are even crazier than he is, so I’m sure it’ll be a real rager.”

Castiel stares at Dean with narrowed eyes. “What does that have to do with me?”

“We’re going to go, do a couple of shots, and let loose.” Dean grins. “I’m sure you’ll be a hilarious drunk. It’ll be a blast!”

He can just picture a glassy eyed Cas rambling on about theology with a goofy smile on his face. It’ll be a special occasion so Dean might even be able to convince him to try a new look. Cas would be the belle of the ball if he wore Dean’s blue dress shirt and an old pair of jeans.

“Absolutely not,” Castiel says firmly. “Weren’t you listening when I said that I have no desire to participate in such behaviors?”

Dean lets out a heavy sigh. “Come on, Cas,” he says. “We never go anywhere and I haven’t been to a party in months. Don’t you want to live a little?”

Cas wouldn’t have to worry about Dean abandoning him or anything like that. Dean would teach him how to play beer pong and drinking games. He’d show him how to pick up chicks and dance with them to crass hip-hop or slinky club beats. The only issue would be finding him a suitable partner. Dean’s not worried about Cas’s lack of popularity, he just can’t think of a single girl who’s good enough for him.

“I take my job seriously,” Castiel says. “I don’t know how well I’d be able to protect you if I were impaired. Jacob was the weakest forefather and he was able to overpower an Angel of Presence. Your classmates are routinely possessed by powerful demons. I fear that under the influence of alcohol, I would be easily incapacitated and you would be left in an extremely vulnerable position with a target on your back. It’s too dangerous and I care too much about your safety to willingly put you in harm’s way.”

“Wow.” Dean laughs uneasily. Sometimes he forgets how intense Cas gets about the safety crap. “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?”

“I do not,” Castiel says. “However… it would be selfish of me to ruin your fun.” He purses his lips. “You’re welcome to attend the party by yourself.”

“Oh.” Dean licks his dry lips. He hadn’t even considered going without Cas, and the more he thinks about it the more wrong it feels. Going someplace or doing something on his own isn’t a big deal. He’s gotten used to the idea that, at any given moment, when he’s not at home, there’s a good chance that Castiel is watching him.

If Dean goes to the party he’ll most likely get sloppy drunk, act like a total dick, and have hate sex with that crazy bitch Bela Talbot. He wouldn’t feel weird about having a night like that if he knew that Cas wouldn’t ever find out about it, but that’s just not possible. Dean would be forcing Cas to watch. (Cas would probably have the decency to afford Dean a little privacy when he’s with Bela but that’s beside the point.)

Dean doesn’t want Castiel to witness his shameless behavior and lose respect for him. He doesn’t want Cas to think he prefers all of that to moments like this when they’re just hanging out in the garage.

It just doesn’t sound particularly appealing.

Castiel clears his throat. He’s gone back to sorting and won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “It might be nice to socialize with your peers like a normal human, male adolescent for a change,” he offers.

“Nah,” Dean says, trying to sound casual. “It’d be boring. There’s no point in going if you don’t want to come.” He picks up a monkey wrench and starts to fiddle with it. “We don’t have to do anything special.”

“It’s really just a celebration of Western Hegemony,” Castiel informs him. “If you look at New Year’s traditions across cultures you’d see that it’s also the least compelling.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dean says with a wry smile.

Bobby shows up around dinnertime with a scraggly evergreen in the bed of his pickup and half of a fried turkey. Castiel leaves, insisting that there’s suspicious activity across the state that’s in need of investigating. Dean suspects that it’s an excuse to give Dean some private family time with Sam and Bobby so he doesn’t argue or demand Cas bring him along.

It’s the best Christmas Dean’s had in a very long time.


	3. January part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snaps for any reader who can guess why the other students might think Dean and Cas are secret boyfriends. It's a real mystery, and the clues are very subtle.

“Hey, you almost done?” Dean asks Castiel. They’re sitting at the counter in the garage doing homework – well, _Cas_ is doing homework. Dean’s only pretending to read his history textbook.

“Just about,” Castiel replies.

“What are you working on?” Dean asks, leaning sideways to peer over Castiel’s shoulder and get a look at his notebook. He notices absently that Cas’s hair smells very clean for a guy who never showers.

“It’s math.” He sighs. “The assignment is far from being difficult, but I don’t enjoy writing out the superfluous steps in such great detail. It’s tedious.”

Dean has no idea what Cas is talking about. Math has been a giant pain in the ass lately; difficult would be putting it mildly.

Cas has a knack for math, science, and foreign languages. He does well on multiple-choice tests in history class, though he does have a tendency to correct the teacher – even when their textbooks contradict what he considers a fact. Dean’s convinced that one of these days he’s going to slip up and try to cite his own personal observations as substantiation. Everyone already thinks he’s a mad genius. Dean would rather see his classmates focus on Cas’s intellect instead of his strangeness. It would certainly make English class more bearable.

Dean’s secretly relieved that Cas isn’t good at everything. Surprisingly enough, writing is his Achilles heal. He’s a voracious reader but only has an appetite for non-fiction. There’s nothing mechanically wrong with his work; his grammar and syntax are flawless. It must be something about his diction that makes his prose so unreadable.

Dean finds it difficult not to tease Cas about his robotic essays, but it’s a sore subject. A few weeks ago he loaned Cas his copy of _Love is a Dog From Hell_ and made the mistake of remarking on the constipated face Cas was making as he read. Cas retaliated by giving Dean the “Enochian treatment,” which is like the silent treatment only instead of responding to Dean’s questions and comments with silence Cas speaks Enochian. It was torturous.

“I’ve been thinking about school a lot lately,” Dean tells Cas.

“Have you now?” Castiel asks distractedly. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that you should see about having your second semester scheduled changed.”

Castiel looks from his notebook and frowns at Dean. “Why?” he asks.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Dean says quickly. “I just think that you might be enjoy taking higher level math and science classes.” He shrugs. “You’ve got the grades for it. I’m surprised they haven’t already tried to advance you.”

“They have, actually,” Castiel admits. “I’ve just refused… adamantly.”

Whatever that means.

“Sam told me that the multivariable calculus teacher makes kids cry, and I know the advanced physics class does a unit on quantum mechanics. Doesn’t that sound way cooler than the stuff you have to sit through with me?”

Castiel blinks. “No.”

“Really?” Dean asks, eyebrows raised. “C’mon, man, be honest. I know the stuff we do now is kidshit to you. The über nerd classes might actually be fun

“Well…” Castiel begins to fiddle with his pencil. “They do sound interesting, I suppose.”

“I think you should also know that my elective next semester is literature.”

“Ah,” Castiel says. “I see.”

“I don’t want to put you through that,” Dean tells him. “Instead I was thinking you could take Anatomy & Physiology or maybe even Chorus.”

“Chorus?” Castiel repeats, giving Dean an unreadable look.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean shrugs. “You said that singing was something you liked to do for fun in heaven, and I hear you humming along with the radio all the time, so… I don’t know.”

Castiel seems to consider him for a long moment. “But how can I ensure your safety if we’re not in the same room?”

“Am I really in that much danger?” Dean asks.

“Not exactly,” Castiel replies. “Not while you’re in school, at least.” He lowers his gaze. “But it would be insurmountably selfish and irresponsible of me to leave you unguarded just so I could attend classes that are more suited to my strengths and interests.”

“That’s such bullshit, Cas,” Dean says bluntly.

Castiel sighs. “You don’t understand – ”

“Except I do. I know how exactly how you feel. When Sam and I went to the same school I used to walk past his classroom six or seven times a day just so I could see his face and know he was okay. God, and the first time we were forced to go to separate schools?” Dean shakes his head. “I went out of my mind worrying about that kid.”

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly. “Have you always been so protective over your brother?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to remember Lawrence. “When he was first born I couldn’t stand him. Everyone fawned over him even though all he did was eat, cry, and shit. I thought he was so lame. I vaguely remember asking my parents to trade him in for a puppy.”

“It’s normal for older children to get jealous of the attention their parents give their younger siblings,” Castiel informs him.

Dean bites back the urge to say something sarcastic. “The fire changed everything,” he says instead. “My dad handed me Sammy and told me to run. He felt like just a bundle of blankets but I was still so terrified of dropping him. I remember I bit the paramedic who tried to pry him from my arms.” Dean sighs. “Ever since then he’s been my responsibility. The first year or so after the fire is kind of a blur, but apparently I used to sleep in his crib with him.”

“I didn’t know that,” Castiel says, staring at him intently. “I was told very little about you before I was deployed.”

“Really?” Dean asks, keen on finding out more. “What does my angel file say?”

“Nothing special,” Castiel replies. “It was quite short.”

“Come on, Cas. Please?” Dean whines. “Don’t I deserve to know what they’re saying about me upstairs?”

“Fine.” Castiel clears his throat and recites, “Dean Winchester travels across the continental U.S in the company of his father and brother. Both Dean and his brother were trained to hunt by their father at a very young age, and together the three transients hunt supernatural creatures. John Winchester hopes that through this work he will learn the identity and the whereabouts of the demon that murdered his wife, and his sons are determined to support him.

“Dean Winchester likes bacon cheeseburgers, classic cars, hard rock, and the color green. He’s sexually promiscuous and prefers experienced women with dark hair and voluptuous bodies. He is neither devout nor academically inclined. He has a large ego but suffers from low self-esteem.”

“Low self-esteem?” Dean echoes. “ _Low self-esteem?_ I do _not_ have low self-esteem!”

Castiel shrugs. “That’s what your file said.”

What a load of crap! The rest of the information seems more or less accurate, but that last part came out of nowhere.

“Do _you_ think I have low self-esteem?” Dean demands.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself sometimes,” Castiel says carefully. “And I think you don’t always give yourself enough credit.”

Dean’s uncomfortable with how intimate this conversation has become, but it’s not his fault that Castiel has disarming eyes and a presence that seems to calm him. If he wanted to, Cas could probably coax Dean into spilling his deepest secrets, and the fact that he hasn’t means a lot to Dean. Though he can still hardly believe how candid he’s been these last few weeks and how much of himself he’s revealed.

“Yes, but you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says. But that’s a lie, because at this point Cas probably knows him better than anyone.

“It’s okay,” he replies. “I’ll stop.” And Castiel, angel of the lord, returns to his math homework, serenely, as if he’s totally cool with Dean to snapping at him for no reason. 

Dean wonders if Cas still thinks he’s just another teenage boy who loves burgers, big tits, and shotguns. He wants Cas to see him differently. It’d be pretty cool if he thought Dean was more than just the car he drives, the food he eats, and the girls he likes. Is that even possible though? The truth is that he’s just not that deep. He’s uncomplicated, and he’s proud of being uncomplicated.

But Cas is complicated. Dean has no freakin clue what goes on in that guy’s head. He’s an angel. Dean still doesn’t know what that entails. Castiel is powerful and old and his approach is always thoughtful and serious. He’s extremely sensitive, yet Dean’s never met anyone more oblivious. He’s not afraid of pain, and he’s not afraid of dying, but just the thought of failure seems to scare the crap out of him.

Would Castiel be palling around with Dean in this dingy garage if it weren’t his job? Cas has nice hands and nice fingers and Dean likes how he holds hold his pencil so damn carefully. Dean could spend hours watching him take notes and write out math equations. There’s nothing artful or elegant about his handwriting – it’s almost entirely utilitarian, yet Dean thinks it’s beautiful. Cas signs his name in block print, but when he writes Dean’s name he adds a little flourish to the ‘n.’

Dean doesn’t realize how long and how hard he must have been staring until he catches sight of Castiel’s face.

“You’re blushing,” Dean says, amused. Castiel could kill him easily, without even breaking a sweat, but all Dean has to do to rattle him is stare.

Castiel gives Dean the side eye. “No, I’m not.”

“Are too.” Dean grins. “Aw, look at you. Are you embarrassed?” He presses the back of a hand to one of Castiel’s pink cheeks. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s not my fault,” Castiel says, glowering now. “I can’t always control my vessel, and your gaze was starting to feel invasive.”

This is, of course, coming from the guy who is notorious for his inability to keep his eyes to himself.

“Invasive, huh?” Dean laughs. “What exactly was I invading, Cas?”

“I could feel you thinking about me,” Castiel says.

“And you’re blushing because you liked it,” Dean teases.

“No,” Castiel says obstinately. “Your scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, and it distracts me from my work.”

Inspired, Dean leers at him. “Guess what I’m thinking about now.”

“I’d rather not.”

“So you want me to stop looking at you?” Dean asks, focusing his gaze on the slope of Castiel’s neck. “And thinking about you?”

“I would appreciate that, yes,” he replies. “You’re not a cannibal. If you’re hungry go to the kitchen and find a snack.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Dean says.

Castiel looks wary. “I’m listening,” he says.

“I promise to leave you alone if you promise to consider having your schedule changed.”

“That’s it?”

Dean nods. “It’s unlikely that Dad’s coming back anytime soon, so we might as well get comfortable.”

A thought occurs to him. If John were to return what would happen to Cas? Would he move with them too? Would he follow Dean to Florida and Oregon and New Mexico – whatever dumpy town John drags them to next?

“I promise to consider the schedule change if that’s what you really want,” Castiel says neutrally.

“What I want is for you to be happy,” Dean says. “You don’t need to be glued to my hip to be happy.”

“I’ll think about it,” Castiel says.

“Awesome.”

“Now go back to pretending to read your book,” Castiel says. “I need another few minutes to finish this, and I assure you that I’m going as fast as I can.”

A man of his word, Dean looks away from Cas and picks up his textbook. He flips through, idly, looking at the illustrations and scanning the subheadings in case he needs to bullshit a pop quiz. A promise is a promise, but he’s having a difficult time not thinking about Cas. What are Castiel’s plans for the future? 

Finally, after ten minutes of waiting, Castiel jabs Dean in the side with the butt of his pencil. Dean nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Dude!” he cries, immediately turning to give Cas a shove. “What the hell?”

“I’m done,” Castiel says, gripping the edge of the countertop and staying firmly rooted to the seat.

Dean rubs his side where he had been poked. “I’m not a pin cushion,” he says.

“My mistake,” Castiel dead pans. “You just look remarkably like a giant pin cushion, and I suppose I got confused. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

Castiel is obviously doing his best to remain expressionless, but the blank stares he’s infamous for seem to have lost their edge. Sometimes, when Cas is trying to be playful, he gets a little twinkle in his eye – a tiny spark that lights up his face whether he wants it to or not. Dean has found it impossible to stay angry at that face.

“Apology accepted,” Dean says. He shifts to face Cas and leans in closer. “Now how exactly do you plan on making restitution?”

Castiel gives him a funny look. “Dean, if you ever want something from me all you have to do is ask. I’d do just about anything for you, providing it doesn’t involve breaking any laws, rules, or promises.”

“That’s because it’s your job,” Dean tells him. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“Okay.” He smiles at Dean. It’s a genuine smile but there’s no twinkle. “You still look hungry,” he says. “Would you like to go to the diner?”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Dean doesn’t really have an appetite. “If you’re dying to get out of this garage we can go for a drive, but I’m fine with staying in too.

Castiel shakes his head. “I like it here.”

“Me too,” Dean says. He knows the fumes will probably give him cancer someday but he pushes those thoughts aside. They sit for a few minutes in comfortable silence until Dean eventually gives into the urge to speak his mind. “So, I’ve been kind of wondering about something,” Dean starts.

Castiel sighs. “You tend to do a lot of that,” he says, not unkindly.

“Right.” Dean wets his lips and asks, “So… what’s going to happen after graduation?”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“I guess I'm curious about your plans for the future,” Dean explains. 

“Ah,” Castiel says. “Well, going under the assumption that you’re to become your father’s hunting partner, it was decided that you would no longer need my constant presence. I would likely check in on you every so often, and in the event of an emergency, if you prayed to me I would do my best to come to your aid.”

“Oh." Dean blinks. “That sounds pretty cool.”

“Yes, and when the time comes for you to fulfill your destiny, one of my superiors, most likely a seraph called Zachariah, will appear before you to make arrangements.”

Arrangements? That sounds vaguely ominous. And who the hell is Zachariah? Why wouldn’t they just send him Cas? Dean doesn’t want to work with any other angels. The one he has now is just fine.

Maybe Cas doesn’t want the job. He didn’t sound too broken up over the thought of parting ways with Dean. It’s all too easy for Dean to forget that Cas didn’t volunteer for any of this. Dean’s his assignment, after all.

“I bet you’re looking forward to graduation then,” Dean says, forcing a laugh. “You’re probably counting down the days.”

Castiel stares at him, opens his mouth to speak, and then falters. Finally he says, “I cannot fathom why anyone would ever suggest that you have low self-esteem.”

_Burn_.

“It was just a joke, Bible Boy.” Dean wills himself not to turn red. There’s no reason for him to be embarrassed. His words were simply misunderstood. “I wasn’t being serious. I _know_ I’m awesome.”

But Cas doesn’t seem convinced. “What you are is obtuse.”

Dean snorts. “This coming from the guy who couldn’t figure out how to open a car door. Remember that time I had to put your seatbelt on for you?”

It’s a low blow but Cas can take it. If he wants banter Dean will give him banter. Dean’s pretty unflappable but Cas has a tendency to surprise him.

Castiel narrows his eyes and says, “Last night while you were sleeping I took care of a nest of shifters out in St. Paul.”

“Dude,” Dean says seriously. _“Not_ cool.”

Apparently Cas likes to fight dirty too.

“Yes,” Castiel breathes. “I refrain from mentioning all of the heroic acts of valor I accomplish while you’re at home _not killing monsters_. I don’t want to be insensitive.”

Dean simply laughs, refusing to fall into that trap. “I’m liking the attitude, Cas. I never knew you were so feisty.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Castiel says offhandedly.

No shit. The guy has been around for millions of years. There’s not enough time to learn everything there is to know about him. Sometimes Dean feels like he’s known Cas his entire life, and other times he’s a virtual stranger.

“It’s because you’re boring,” Dean tells him.

“Didn’t you just say I was feisty?” Castiel asks. “Does feisty bore you now?”

“You haven’t always had a personality,” Dean points out. “I’m just going to go ahead and assume that before you started kicking it with us humans your life was a total snoozefest.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Castiel says. “I find solving logarithms to be extremely titillating, especially when compared to my experiences on the battlefield.”

Cas is sharp, and he’s on a role. Fortunately Dean knows just how to put him in his place.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks.

“Yes, Dean?”

“There’s something else I’ve been wondering about lately.”

“Okay…” Castiel says.

“It’s a very technical question,” Dean tells him.

Castiel raises an inquisitive brow. “Is it really?”

“Yeah.” Dean bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s about heaven and the scriptures, and I know I could try looking for answers at the university library, but I doubt I’d find anything. You know how humans are…”

“I…” Castiel looks thoughtful and his guard is up. “I don’t know what you mean. I wouldn’t say anything deprecatory about my father’s most precious creations…”

“Chill, dude,” Dean says. “I’m not trying to trick you into belittling humanity. I was just trying to explain that you’re the only one who I can go to for answers because human records tend to be… distorted for political reasons.”

“Oh.” Castiel visibly relaxes. “I see now. I understand why you would be reluctant to pursue biased and inaccurate accounts of biblical history.”

Dean smiles sweetly. “Exactly,” he says. “You know the true stories. It would be silly of me to look anywhere else for answers.”

“I can’t disagree,” Castiel says. “You know I’m eager to share my knowledge with you.”

“That’s why you’re the best, Cas,” Dean says. “I keep thinking about how lucky I am to have you and your expertise available to me so readily. I hope you don’t feel like I take you for granted.”

“No, no,” Castiel assures him. “I understand that you’re a teenage boy, and you already have your own interests. I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Still, I’m lucky to have you in my life.” Dean’s going to hell for this one. “Cas, do you have any idea how valuable you are? There are people who would kill to have your wisdom at their disposal.”

“Dean…” Castiel once again has two pink stains on his cheeks. “You don’t have to – I’m… touched by your words, but I don’t need praise. I’m just happy that I'm able to help. ”

“That’s what I love about you, Cas.” Dean is a terrible, terrible person. “I’ve never met anyone more selfless or... ” Dean feigns uncomfortable laughter. “Actually, can we pretend I didn’t just say that? I think the fumes in here are starting to get to me.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, nodding his head. “It’s no problem at all.”

“This has just gotten way too weird.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and does his best to appear distraught. “Next time remind me that we don’t do chick-flick moments, okay?”

“No chick-flick moments,” Castiel says, still nodding. “Got it.”

“Thanks.” Dean breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief. “You’re the best, man.”

“I do try,” Castiel says. “And not just because it’s my job,” he adds quietly.

“So, you think you might be able to help me out with my question?” Dean asks. “It’s kind of sensitive, and you’re the only source I can trust. I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking anyone else about something this important.”

“I’ll do my very best,” Castiel tells him seriously. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me too.”

Dean schools his features, putting a great deal of effort into maintaining a look of innocence. “I was wondering…” he clears his throat. “What’s Enochian for _fuck you_?”

It takes Castiel a moment to register Dean’s deception but once he does he immediately picks up Dean’s history book and smacks Dean in the arm with it.

“I can’t believe you!” he shouts angrily. He hits Dean again, multiple times, but Dean hardly notices because Dean is too busy laughing his ass off.

“ _I_ can’t believe you actually bought it!” Dean says, and the look of fury on Castiel’s face sends him into another bout of raucous, sidesplitting laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

Dean wants to reply but he can’t stop laughing. Tears are rolling down his cheeks. “I’ve never met anyone so gullible,” he manages. 

“You are incorrigible,” Castiel grumbles when Dean has finally calmed down enough to meet his eyes.

“Hell yeah, I am.” Dean says, breathless and grinning. “Now who’s obtuse?”

“Obtuse?” Castiel gapes at him. “This is because I called you obtuse? Dean, you’re way out of line. This was… this was… _mean.”_

Drama queen much? All Dean did was go a little overboard with the flattery and ask a rude question. Cas shouldn’t be throwing a fit just because he got duped.

“It was a joke,” Dean says. “It was a hilarious and well executed joke.”

Castiel gives him a withering look. “Your concern for your masculine identity was a nice touch. I’m surprised your file didn’t say anything about your rampant insecurities and tendency to overcompensate.”

“You know, it was kind of cute how you got all flustered when I complimented you.”

“Whatever, Dean.” Castiel hops off of his stool and begins to gather his belongings. “I think I should leave now.”

Maybe Dean crossed a line this time. It was bound to happen eventually, right? That doesn’t mean Cas isn’t overreacting.

“Would you lighten up?” Dean says, a little bit defensive now. “It was a joke.”

Castiel stops packing and turns to face Dean directly. “I’m new to the complexities of human interaction and emotion, and I don’t understand why you’d target that particular weakness when I have been nothing but respectful of your feelings. ”

Well when you put it like that of course Dean is going to look like a major ass. “C’mon, Cas,” he says. “You know I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Then how did you mean it? You lied about how you perceive me just so you could set me up for disappointment and embarrassment. ”

“I didn’t lie,” Dean says.

Castiel narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean you didn’t lie?”

“I was yanking your chain, but… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I didn’t say anything untrue.”

“I don’t understand…”

If Dean wants to fix this he has to swallow his pride. He stands up to meet Castiel’s eyes so Castiel can see that he’s not fooling around this time. Cas’s expression is stony, but Dean knows from experience what it looks like when someone is trying to use anger to disguise pain.

“Cas,” Dean starts. He feels like he should be touching him, but he has no idea where to it’s safe to put his hands so he stuffs them in his pockets. “I shouldn’t need to tell you that I think you’re awesome. Yeah, I was poking fun at you for being self-important, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re important.”

“Oh.” He hugs his notebooks and pencil case to his chest. “I see.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Dean says, trying to hide his genuine discomfort with a shrug. “I really do… appreciate the fact that you’re willing to tell me stuff, and I think it’s cool that I’m the only one in the world who gets to know these things. I was completely serious when I said that I hope you don’t feel like I take you for granted.”

Castiel stares at him for a moment before he finally says, “ _Zir monons telocvovim_.”

“What?”

“That’s how you say it.”

Dean licks his lips. “ _Zir mon_ … tele-what?” he tries repeating.

“ _Zir monons telocvovim_ ,” Castiel says again, slowly this time.

“Zir monons telocvovim.”

“Perfect.” Castiel offers a small smile, and Dean can see straight through him.

“That doesn’t really mean ‘fuck you’ does it?” he guesses.

“It would be impossible to use the Enochian language to say something so vulgar,” Castiel tells him. “So no, it doesn’t really mean… that.”

Dean can’t help but return the smile. “And you have no intention of telling me what _zir monons telocvovim_ actually means, do you?”

“Not today.”

“Alright.” Dean pulls Castiel’s school things out from under his arms. Cas immediately relinquishes his hold, and Dean meets no resistance. He puts the notebooks and pencil case down on the counter then turns to look back at Cas. “You should stay.”

“Should I?” Castiel asks, though he’s already lifted himself up onto the stool and reclaimed his seat.

“If you want to,” Dean says, following suit. He doesn’t remember moving either stool yet it somehow feels like they’re sitting closer now.

“I really do like this place.” Castiel begins turning his head and twisting his body to survey the room and perhaps take a mental inventory, or to commit certain details to memory.

“Hey,” Dean calls, tugging on Castiel’s tie to get his attention. “Teach me more Enochian.”

“Ask nicely,” Castiel says softly, leaning in, “and maybe I will.”

“Please?” Dean says. “Please will you teach me more Enochian?”

“ _Micma limlal loholo aglo zol_.” Castiel says.

“And what does that mean?” Dean asks.

“ _Eol iaiadix iadpil. Noan ozien parach_.”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean whines. “Not this shit again…”

“ _Bolp coraxo?_ ” Castiel asks.

“You’re the worst.”

“ _Noncf biab vvplif_.”

“THE WORST!”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to laugh, and Dean kind of loves the sound of Castiel’s laughter, so maybe just this once Dean will play along.

Just this once.

 

 

“I don’t need a ride home today,” Sam says as they turn into the school parking lot.

“You staying late?” Dean asks casually.

“Yeah.”

“Gonna work on your extra credit for science class?”

“The extra credit project is for English class, actually,” Sam says. “But yes.”

Liar, Liar…

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” Dean asks. “I’ll come get you later.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says quickly. “I can get a ride.”

“So this is a group project?”

Sam nods. “It’s worth a lot of points.”

“Well, I don’t have any plans today,” Dean says. “So call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up.”

“I just told you – ”

“Unless you want me to start asking questions, you should just agree.”

“Fine,” Sam grumbles.

Dean bites his tongue. If Sam wants to resent him for following their father’s orders and trying to keep him safe, that’s his problem, not Dean's.

 

 

Their biology teacher is MIA, which means Dean and Castiel don’t even have to leave the classroom to goof off and do nothing.

Castiel is seated in a chair like a proper student. Dean’s sitting opposite him on top of the lab table, legs dangling off the edge, spread just wide enough to hang on either side of Castiel’s thighs without touching them. They’re having the Mothra vs. Godzilla argument again so Dean’s not terribly annoyed when they’re interrupted.

“I’ve never understood the appeal of those films,” a voice behind him says.

Dean turns around and smiles because it’s Layla, and he likes Layla. He likes anyone who’s nice to Cas, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s easy on the eyes too.

“They’re an acquired taste,” Dean tells her.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Layla says, returning the smile, and when she catches sight of Cas trapped between Dean’s legs she lets out a giggle. “I thought I might find you here.”

“Hello, Layla,” Castiel says politely. “How are you today?”

“I’m a little tired,” she says. “I was up all night trying to get some last minute stuff taken care of for the charity walk. It’s only two days away and I still feel like I have a million things to do.”

Layla apparently had some kind of awful childhood disease that was supposed to kill her but didn’t. Now that she’s healthy, she spends all her time volunteering and organizing charity events with her church youth group.

“I’m sure you’ll get everything done in time,” Castiel says. “You’re a very capable young woman.”

Dean’s smile widens, and he nudges Castiel’s thigh with his foot. Kid’s got game.

“Thank you, Castiel,” Layla says. “That’s very sweet of you to say.”

 “Yep.” Dean leans forward and reaches out to ruffle Castiel’s hair. “My man, Cas, is a real sweetheart.”

 Castiel tries to duck out of Dean’s reach. “But I’m not a dog.”

“Of course not.” Dean drops his hand and grins. “If you were an animal you’d totally be a cat.”

Castiel squints at Dean. “I…  a what?”

“I see it too,” Layla says, giggling again. “A cute little kitten with big blue eyes.”

Castiel’s expression is unreadable. “I’d rather maintain my human visage, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Hence the blue eyes,” Dean says.

“I’m nothing like a kitten,” Castiel insists.

“Really?” Dean smirks. “I bet if I scratched you behind your ear you’d purr like one.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Castiel says sharply, giving Dean a warning look.

“See,” Dean says, feeling victorious because Castiel is visibly flustered. “You’re moody like a cat too!”

“And don’t worry,” Layla says. “I’m sure Dean would let you live in his backpack. He’d take good care of you.”

“Doubtful,” Castiel says. “If I were a cat Dean would put me in a box and leave me by the side of the road.”

Dean’s genuinely offended by Cas’s words. The little bastard sounds so sure of himself too. Like he actually believes Dean would be that shitty of a friend. Even Layla looks a little taken aback.

“Screw you, man,” Dean says. “I’m not that big of a jerk.”

Castiel frowns. “I never said you were.”

“You don’t really think Dean would abandon you,” Layla says to Cas, “do you?”

“I know he would,” Castiel says plainly.

“Hey!” Dean half-shouts. “Would it kill you to have a little faith in me?”

“Dean…” Castiel gives him a strange look. “You’re _allergic_ to cats.”

Itchy nose, watery eyes – Dean’s whole face swells up like a balloon. It’s not a pretty sight. Dean can’t even be in the same room as a cat.

“Oh… right…” he says, feeling slightly foolish.

But, what, Cas doesn’t think Dean would find a way to make it work? He’s a Winchester! Winchester men don’t let their allergies tell them what they can and can’t do.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing Castiel is human,” Layla says, making a second attempt to smooth things over between them.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel says, smiling with his eyes. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m human.”

Dean’s torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to punch Castiel in his smug little face.

“Anyways,” Layla sighs, “I came over here for a reason, believe it or not.”

“I believe it,” Dean smirks.

She’s going to ask Castiel out on a date, isn’t she? Dean knows they’re friendly, but he wasn’t sure if she was interested. Meg was obvious. Dean’s a little thankful that Castiel never accepted any of her multiple propositions. She was the wrong kind of intense. Definitely not Cas’s type.

Layla would be a better fit. She’s super into all that bible stuff too, so they have at least one common interest. Dean can picture the two of them going to church together and having meaningful conversations about god. Cas deserves a nice, churchgoing blond to talk with about god stuff and bible things. They can hold hands and save themselves for marriage. Layla is a promise ring type girl, and though Dean thinks Cas desperately needs to get laid, he doesn’t want Cas rushing into something he’s not ready for.

“Well,” Layla says. “I had car question and I understand you’re an expert.”

“Oh,” Dean says, surprised. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself and expert…”

“Dean is extremely knowledgeable,” Castiel assures her. “He’s just being uncharacteristically modest.”

“What are you driving?” Dean asks, shooting Cas a dirty look.

“F-Series,” Layla says.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Seriously? What generation?”

“It’s ninth generation,” she tells him. “And it’s techincally my dad’s…” She blushes. “Nobody ever believes me when I say it’s mine. I guess I don’t look that part.”

“Hey,” Dean says with an easy smile. “Girls can drive trucks too. Anyone who gives you a hard time is probably just jealous.”

“The belief that men are better drivers than women is actually a myth,” Castiel informs them. He’s totally wrong, of course. But it’s nice that he’s trying to contribute to the conversation. Dean nudges him again only this time he winks too.

“Right,” he says to Layla. “So what’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure.” Layla sighs. “It’s been making a funny chirping noise.”

“When?” Dean asks. “Constantly? Or only when accelerating?”

“Constantly.”

The F-series is so ubiquitous Dean doesn’t know any mechanic who wouldn’t at least have some helpful suggestions. It’s not out of his range to make a few educated guesses.

“Sounds like you might have a problem with your drive belt,” Dean says. “But it’s also possible that your clutch plate or u-joints are worn out.”

Layla purses her lips then asks, “How much would that cost to fix?”

“Uh…” Dean scratches his head. “If it’s a problem with the drive belt or u-joints most shops will charge you around two-hundred dollars. If you need a new clutch plate it’ll be anywhere between five hundred to a thousand. You should take it to the shop, and if it turns out it’s only your u-joints let me know. It’s a lot cheaper to do it yourself.”

“You’d help me with that?” Layla asks appreciatively.

“Sure.” Like Dean has anything better to do. Helping people used to be his job, after all.  “Bring the truck round the salvage yard any time and I’ll be more than happy to service you.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

It’s a habit. Dean has used auto maintenance as a pretense for sex more times than he can count. Layla is a pretty girl and it just slipped out. He’s all for inappropriate flirting but this crosses the line into bad friend territory.

Sure enough when he glances at Castiel he can see that Cas is miffed.

“That’s a really kind offer, Dean,” Layla says, giving no indication of having noticed the come-on. “Thank you.”

Dean waits until after she leaves to apologize.

“Sorry, dude,” he says to Cas when she’s out of earshot. “Force of habit. I didn’t mean to poach your game like that.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel asks, staring up at Dean and frowning.

“Layla.”

“What about her?”

“She’s all yours, man.”

Though it occurs to Dean that maybe hitting on Layla wasn’t a mistake. If she’s susceptible to Dean’s charm then there’s no way she’s good enough for Cas. No freakin’ way. Cas deserves someone who will understand him and recognize his worth.

Dean is shallow. Dean is the low hanging fruit. You don’t cry when he dumps you because he’s not worth it. Dean is replaceable. But Cas… Castiel is a delicacy. He’s your good China. He’s the treasure you want to keep locked in a vault because the thought of losing him is scares the shit out of you. Only equally exceptional girls should be eligible to date Cas.

Layla is a nice girl and she’d probably make Cas happy, but Dean just can’t help wondering if she’d ever be able to appreciate all of Castiel’s quirks. The things that make Cas weird are the things Dean likes about him the most. He embraces all of Cas’s idiosyncrasies. He doesn’t just tolerate them (tolerate is such a foul word.)

But if Cas really, truly likes someone then of course Dean is going to be 100% supportive. That’s what best friends are for, right? He’ll be the best wingman in the history of wingmen.

“I don’t have any interest in pursuing Layla,” Castiel says simply. “I don’t desire a romantic relationship with her if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Oh.

“Then what’s with the face?” Dean asks, confused and a little relieved.

“What face?”

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean sighs. “Something is obviously bothering you.”

“Oh, well, I guess… it’s just…” Castiel lowers his gaze. “You’ve never offered to show _me_ how to service a car.”

Well, yeah. Castiel is a guy, and Dean’s not interested in seducing him.

“Seriously?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“I’m not complaining or anything like that,” Castiel says quickly. “And I’m not trying to suggest that I’m entitled to such instruction either.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to learn,” Dean says. “We’re in the garage almost every day. All you have to do is ask me to teach you.”

“Really?” Castiel asks eagerly. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course.” Dean can’t bring himself to explain why he hasn’t offered before now. He doesn’t want to spoil Cas’s excitement.

“Today?”

Dean laughs. “Whenever you want, Cas. I’m all yours.”

 

 

There’s an awful racket coming from Sam’s room that Dean just can’t ignore. He doubts that Sam will be able to hear him knocking so he just opens the door and prays silently that’s he’s not interrupting… anything. And to his relief, Sam appears to be simply lying on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Dean can tell by the look on the kid’s face that’s he’s almost completely consumed by teenage angst. A lesser man would have high tailed it out of there, but Dean’s fearless and doesn’t believe in self-preservation.

“What the hell are you listening to?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Sam sits up and glares at Dean. “Music,” he replies, his tone conveying a very clear warning to back off.

“This isn’t music,” Dean says. “This is stolen beats and misplaced guitar riffs. Who told you this was music?”

Sam snarls like some sort of angsty, teenage, rabid animal and stomps over to where Dean’s standing. Dean notices for the first time that Sam’s grown a few inches since their arrival. At the rate he’s going, it won’t be long before he’s as tall as Dean. Now there’s a scary thought.

“God, Dean,” Sam says, sounding a lot like whiney bitch. “What’s your problem? Just because Dad doesn’t listen to it doesn’t mean it’s not music.”

“I never – ” but before he can finish Sam slams the door shut on his face. “Fine, Samantha,” he shouts instead against the wood of the door. “Do us all a favor and warn us the next time you’re expecting your period.”

This is a little much, even for a princess like Sam. Dean hopes it’s nothing more than the trials and tribulations of puberty.

 

 

But what if it’s not?

 

 

Dean tosses and turns in bed for about an hour before he finally admits to himself that he can’t sleep and should probably just stop trying.

He knows that Cas is outside somewhere but he’s afraid that calling out to him and inviting him inside the house would be crossing some sort of line that Dean’s not sure he wants to cross. So he asks himself, WWJD? Would John be afraid of just a casual conversation?

“Cas?” he says tentatively into the darkness. “Cas, buddy, are you out there?”

Almost immediately Dean hears the sound of feathers rustling and beating wings. Then, a moment later, Cas is standing at the foot of his bed, and the room is flooded with a dim orange light. The lamp that’s been broken since before Dean was born now emits a weak glow. 

“Hello Dean,” Castiel says calmly, as if it’s totally normal for him to be chatting with Dean in his bedroom at two in the morning.”

“Hey,” Dean whispers, because the last thing he wants is to wake up a sleeping Bobby. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

Cas tilts his head and gives Dean an inscrutable look. “Something’s amiss?” he asks.

It’s surreal. Dean feels like he’s in a Spielberg movie. He’s being visited by a teenage, nerdy, trench coat wearing angel in the attic bedroom of a house on a salvage yard. Dean’s so distracted by the novelty of it all he almost forgets why he summoned Cas in the first place.

“It’s Sammy,” he says at last. “He’s been acting weird lately and I’m worried.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean says, motioning Cas over to the bed. “So have a seat and tell me what you know.”

Castiel hesitates and for a moment it looks as if he’s going to refuse. He eyes the space on the bed beside Dean apprehensively before shifting his gaze upwards and searching Dean’s face with a calculating stare. Finally Castiel walks forward and carefully lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, sitting opposite Dean with just a few inches between them.

 “You’ll have to be more specific,” Castiel says. “The width and breath of my knowledge is infinite.”

Lately Cas can’t get through a conversation without mentioning how awesome his angelic powers are.

“Yeah, tell that to the fax machine you broke,” Dean says, unimpressed. “Or the three printers that you jammed. Or the vacuum. Remember the vacuum?” 

“I know the truth about The Voynich Manuscript,” Castiel shoots back. “ _And_ the Phaistos Disc.”

You know, important things…

Dean has no idea what he’s talking about. If Cas were talking about something cool Dean would have at least heard of it, therefore it’s safe to assume that whatever he’s referring to is nerd crap. Sam has always been the king of nerds, but compared to Cas, Sam’s Steve freakin’ McQueen. Cas may be smarter and stronger than Dean, but he’s still Cas. Dean imagines that other angels give him a hard time for being so uncool. He’s probably just as popular in heaven as he is on earth.

“Are you a virgin?” Dean asks partly out of curiosity and partly because he’s certain that the question will embarrass Cas. “You are, aren’t you?”

It’s lucky that angels can still blush. This wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining if Dean didn’t have the pleasure of watching Mr. Celestial Smarty Pants turn tomato red.

Castiel rubs the back of his neck and shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t understand how my virginity has become relevant to this conversation.”

“We’re guys,” Dean laughs, enjoying this. “Sex is _always_ relevant.”

“I’m not a ‘guy,’” Castiel says, using air quotes and making Dean cringe. “I’m an angel and angels are asexual. We don’t feel romantic attraction or sexual arousal.”

This is news to Dean. Most of the motels they stay in when they’re on the road have a copy of the holy bible tucked away in a dresser or nightstand drawer. Motel rooms become prison cells when the TV is broken, and Sam and Dean will resort to just about anything in order to stave off boredom. He made it through about seven or eight pages of the good book before he decided that bible study is more tedious then doing nothing. Still, he remembers very clearly there being a part about angels visiting earth to get it on with Farmer Adam’s sexy daughters.

And then Dean realizes that he doesn’t really want Castiel hooking up with any farm girls. It’s bad enough that Dean has to compete with heaven and academia for Castiel’s attention.

“I was just teasing, Cas,” Dean says, deciding to show mercy for once.

“Of course,” Castiel says, and though his tone is indifferent he’s unable to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’ve injured your ego with my superior intellect thus you feel the need to rectify the damage by prompting me to reveal my lack of sexual experience in an attempt to embarrass me.”

Dean’s pretty sure Cas just insulted him, but he’s going to be the bigger man and let it slide. “Feel like putting that ‘superior intellect’ to use for once?”

“I’m listening,” Castiel says, his face gradually regaining its normal pallor.

“Sam’s being weird,” says Dean. “So I want you to tell me what you know. You’re like Big Brother. You see everything.”

Castiel frowns in bewilderment. “Has your sleep deprivation made you delirious?” he asks. “ _You’re_ Sam’s brother. I’m an angel, remember?”

“It’s from a – never mind.” Dean sighs. “I know you know something. What’s going on with Sam?”

“I…” Castiel begins uncertainly. “I don’t want to be disrespectful of his privacy. That feels… wrong.”

The sudden influx of supernatural creatures in Dean’s life has left him a little paranoid. Demons tried to kill him and would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Cas’s intervention. As far as Dean knows, Sam doesn’t have an angel watching his back, just Dean, and Dean will do everything in his power to make sure the kid’s safe.

“Don’t worry about his privacy,” Dean tells Castiel, adding, “You’re my angel, not his.”

“I’m not _your_ angel,” Castiel says, giving Dean a pointed look. “I’m not your servant and you’re not my master.”

“I’m not trying to be… your master,” Dean says, wondering if calling on Cas had been a bad idea after all. “It’s just that Sam’s my responsibility…”

“And your concern for him is what’s keeping you from sleep.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Dean nods because it’s mostly true, and asks, “You gonna help me out, or what?”

“Very well.” Castiel says, still looking uneasy. “Your brother is romantically involved with another student.”

“Romantically involved?” What does that even mean? “Is that Cas-code for girlfriend?”

“They agreed that it’s too early in the relationship to use that term,” Castiel explains. “I don’t understand all of these labels. I thought ‘girlfriend and boyfriend’ implied a certain level of monogamy and commitment, but you disproved that assumption.” Castiel frowns and stares thoughtfully down at the bedspread. “However… Sam and Jess are exclusive and they share emotional as well as physical intimacy, yet they are hesitant to use the terms.” He then looks up at Dean and asks, “Can you please clarify the distinction for me?”

When Cas asks questions like this, all wide-eyed and guileless, Dean has to make a concerted effort not to screw with him. “Does he buy her shit and does he pay when they go out?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Then she’s his girlfriend.”

Dean feels like an idiot for not recognizing the signs. This is hardly Sam’s first girlfriend. No woman can resist a Winchester. As for Sam’s attitude problem… he’s probably been spending so much time thinking about girls that he can’t help acting like one.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Dean wonders aloud.

“You take pleasure in embarrassing him,” Castiel says flatly.

Dean snickers. “There is that.”

“Yes, there is that,” Cas agrees. “But,” he pauses, “you’re a good brother. I think… I think he should have been honest with you.”

“Of course you do, bible boy,” says Dean. “Deception is frowned upon in heaven, I haven’t forgotten.”

“He knows that you worry about him,” Castiel says, ignoring Dean’s comment. “I don’t think it’s fair for him to hide these trivial matters from you, when your upmost concern is his wellbeing.”

Sam’s just a kid. Dean can understand his need for space and not wanting to have his big brother breathing down his neck twenty-four, seven. Sure, Sam can be a selfish brat, but in the end he’d never turn his back on his family. Dean’s not sure he likes Cas’s disapproving frown. More than anything in life Dean just wants Sam to be happy, healthy, and safe.

“You have brothers, right?” he asks.

“Thousands of them.”

Not the answer Dean was expecting. “So are all angels siblings then?”

“We share a common father and regard each other as brothers and sisters.” Castiel blinks. “Does that help answer your question?”

“No,” Dean replies, grinning. “But the asexual thing makes a whole hell of a lot more sense now.”

“Angels…” Castiel starts off hesitantly. “In our true forms, our anatomy and molecular composition do not allow for sexual arousal or sexual intercourse.”

“And in a vessel?” Dean promises himself that he’ll put an end to the discussion if it starts to get weird. “Do angels have sex when they’re in vessels?”

“It depends on the vessel,” Castiel says. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. Uriel, an older angel in my garrison, he said that angels only feel the need to…” Castiel clears his throat, “fornicate when they’re sharing a vessel with the vessel’s human soul.”

“But, the human who was in your vessel…” Dean can’t remember the poor guy’s name.

“Jimmy,” Castiel supplies helpfully.

“Right,” says Dean. “Jimmy. Jimmy’s dead and in heaven, so…”

“Uriel says that an angel who inhabits an unoccupied vessel will not be tempted by humanity’s vices.”

“So you’ve never been tempted?” asks Dean.

Castiel doesn’t answer right away, and that’s enough to put Dean on edge. He meant for the question to sound light and teasing, forgetting that subtlety is utterly lost on Cas. Sometimes Cas is so unguarded Dean actually worries for him. This is not one of those times.

Castiel takes a deep breath and shrugs. “Humanity is confusing.” He shifts and his knee brushes against Dean’s and Dean feels the room shrink. “Balthazar, another angel whom I consider a friend, he thinks that Uriel is warped by his contempt for humankind. I feel more than an angel should and I don’t understand most of these emotions.” He meets Dean’s gaze but his expression is unreadable. “However, my grace has not been tainted by turpitude.”

Dean doesn’t have a clue what grace and turpentine have to do with temptation and vices, but he thinks it’s hilarious that Cas has a brother named Urinal.

“It sounds to me like things with your brothers are complicated,” Dean says, not sure how else to describe their relationships. “Do you at least understand why I need to take care of Sammy?”

“No,” Castiel replies bluntly. “I like your brother. He’s smart and he’s kind but he will hurt you someday and the damage will be irreparable.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He’s ready to shout at Castiel and tell him that’s he wrong and warn him not to talk about Sammy that way ever again, but he’s too tired to get worked up and angry. It might force him to admit that deep, deep down he has his doubts, and he’s not ready to face them.

“He’s all I got,” Dean says, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I don’t think that’s true,” says Castiel.

“Oh yeah,” Dean reaches out and pokes Cas in the shoulder with a single finger. “I guess I have a nerdy angel too.”

Castiel does the whole head tilt soul searching stare and after a moment finally says, “I was referring to John and Bobby.”

Dean resists the urge to hide his head under his pillow. “Right,” he says. “Them too of course.”

“Are you relieved of your stress now?” Castiel asks, either oblivious to or outright ignoring Dean’s embarrassment.

“I don’t think I’ll have any more trouble falling asleep, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Dean replies.

“I’m glad,” Castiel says quietly.

And he really does look pleased. His smile is tentative, almost as if he’s not sure it’s allowed, but it’s also unmistakably sincere, which makes it good enough for Dean. Cas has become an important person in Dean’s life. Dean wouldn’t hesitate to call him his best friend. Dean cares about Cas. Regardless, there are a few things he wants to make clear.

“Look,” he says seriously. “I like you. You’re weird and it’s irritating sometimes but you’re and angel and you can’t really help it.” Dean stares directly into Cas’s eyes before continuing, his tone resolute. “But I swear on my mother’s grave that if you ever hold out on me when Sam’s in real trouble I’m going to fuck you up so bad you’ll wish you never met me. Do we have an understanding?”

Castiel shakes his head and looks away. “I can’t make that kind of promise.”

“Cas,” Dean says lowly. “Cas look at me,” he orders, and when Cas doesn’t comply Dean grabs him by the chin to turn his head and forces him to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think you realize what you’re asking of me,” Castiel croaks, and his eyes are so freakin’ blue, and Dean can see the regret clear as day.

“I don’t really care,” Dean says. Because as much as he likes Cas, Sam and Bobby come first, and that’s a fact.

Castiel swallows, hard. “Okay,” he says after a long tense moment. “I promise I’ll take care of them. For you.”

“Right.” Dean realizes that his fingers have lingered on Cas’s face and quickly drops his hand. For the most part, Dean avoids prolonged contact with Cas’s skin. It’s much too easy to forget Cas isn’t human when he’s just as warm and soft as any human Dean’s ever touched. “Thanks then,” Dean says, because Castiel still isn’t speaking and the silence is uncomfortable. “I trust you.”

Castiel gives him an penetrating look. “I trust you too.”

“That’s… good,” Dean says, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Cas is sitting too close. Dean can practically feel the heat of his breath on his face. He can smell him and can’t stop wondering if all angels smell like mint leaves and licorice or if it’s just Cas, Cas, who is apparently fascinated by the dusting of freckles on Dean’s cheeks and nose, and won’t stop staring.

Heat rises, so the attic bedroom is a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house, though that’s not saying much. Dean’s taken to sleeping in flannel pants and shirts with sleeves, yet some nights he still goes to bed shivering.

It’s freezing outside. Dean had been lying down, cocooned in a bundle of blankets before Cas made his entrance. The temperature hadn’t bothered him then, but as soon as he sat up and let the protective layers fall, exposing himself to the cold air, he should have begun to feel the chill. It could be the weird lighting, or maybe Cas is working some angel mojo, but Dean’s not cold at all. In fact, Dean feels very, very warm.

Castiel eventually notices Dena’s discomfort and backs away, slightly sheepish. “My apologies.”

“S’okay,” Dean says, strangely hoarse. “Just, you know… personal space and all. We talked about this, remember?”

But, the truth is, Dean can understand why Cas might be a little confused. The boundaries between them are constantly changing (more like fading, and fading fast). Lately, Dean keeps forgetting to tell Cas to back off. Maybe it would be easier to just stop mentioning it all together. If it doesn’t mean anything, he should probably stop calling so much attention to it.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, standing abruptly and moving away from the mattress. “Truly.”

Dean yawns, loud and wide, but the desire to sleep isn’t strong enough to overpower the feeling of guilt. If anything it makes him more susceptible. “Slow down, featherbrains, I told you it was okay, didn’t I?” He scoots over to the other side of the bed. “Take your shoes off and sit next to me like a normal person and it won’t be a problem.”

Dean’s used to sharing a bed. It’s never been a big deal. For the longest time, even when there were enough for Sam to have his own, and even if they both fell asleep in their separate beds, Dean would invariably find Sam curled up next to him in the morning like a little puppy dog.

Cas settles in next to Dean and both the bed and the room feel infinitely smaller Dean becomes even more acutely aware of the soft heat Castiel’s body radiates and the pleasant way he smells and the fullness of his lips…

He realizes that lying next to Cas doesn’t feel anything like lying next to Sam. Lying in bed with Castiel, Angel of the Lord, feels a lot like lying in bed with a pretty girl.

And so Dean finds himself starting to wonder, out of idle curiosity, how Cas might react if he were to roll over and kiss him. It would be a very gentle kiss, of course, with hardly any tongue. Any agression on Dean's part would most likely spook Cas, and spooking Cas could very well have disasterous consequences. 

Dean simply wants to know if Cas’s angel brothers were right about angels and desire. He wants to know if Cas would enjoy being kissed and enjoy being touched. What does Dean have to do to sufficiently temp him? And how far will he have to go to taint his grace? Curiosity isn’t a sin.

But lust certainly is.

Except Dean knows what lust feels like, and this isn’t lust. They spend so much time alone together that surely if Dean had…urges he would have tried something by now. He’s had plenty of opportunities.

A week ago, when it was Cas’s turn to pick an activity, they drove out to the Vermillion River and parked near the water to enjoy the scenic view. Cas loved it, of course. He’s big on nature and fresh air and has this fascination with bees that Dean just doesn’t understand.

It’s important to remember that this is South Dakota and it’s freakin’ January. Dean was freezing his ass off, and Cas was actually annoyed when Dean refused to go on a walk with him. It was only after Dean’s lips started turning blue that Cas relented and agreed to compromise. For Dean’s sake, they experienced nature from the inside of a heated car, on the condition that Cas be allowed to control the music, which meant two whole hours of James Taylor, Neil Young and The Byrds.

Had Cas been a girl, Dean wouldn’t have thought twice about grabbing him by the waist and pulling him into his lap for a marathon session of warm, unhurried kisses.

But the idea never occurred to him. If he wanted Castiel sexually the idea would have at least occurred to him. It would have been the perfect moment to make a move too. Cas was so relaxed and pleased with Dean for indulging him. He most likely wouldn’t have made a big deal about rejecting or accepting Dean’s advances. He might even have cooperated. Maybe he would have wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and let Dean drive him wild with his tongue. It’s not difficult to imagine a frisky Castiel writhing in his lap, grinding against him, and making all of these sexy little noises in the back of his throat.

Dean expects to feel neutral or perhaps even slightly revolted by these thoughts. And while he is not _visibly_ turned on (thank god), he does find the mental images undeniably appealing and… stimulating. He’s never had the urge to make a move on another dude so he’s never tried it. There’s no reason for him to believe he’d enjoy fooling around with Cas, but there’s also not reason to believe wouldn’t.

Regardless, Cas is his friend and didn’t sign on for sexual experimentation. Dean’s not even sure if what he’s feeling is sexual attraction. It could just be run of the mill loneliness and frustration. The more he thinks about it the more he desperately wishes he could stop. It’s wrong to think this way about friends, especially those of the nonhuman variety. Dean’s a little peeved at his brain for even venturing there in the first place.

Castiel is staring awfully hard at the ceiling, which is further proof that this was just a super idea.

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words to express what he’s feeling. This whole thing has gotten sleepy and out of control and now Castiel is – what the _hell_ made Dean believe that having Cas stretched out next to him would be _less_ weird?

“What are you thinking about?” Castiel asks eventually.

“Cars,” Dean lies, because it’s not like he can tell Cas that he’s been lying next to him for the past five minutes wondering what angels taste like. “What about you?”

“My sister,” Castiel says.

“Like an angel sister?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “We called her Anna. She used to be captain of my garrison.” He sighs wistfully. “We were quite close.”

“Were?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re not close anymore?”

“No,” Castiel says, sounding pained. “Anna… she fell sixteen years ago.”

“Oh, uh…bummer.”

Castiel breathes a shaky sigh and asks, “Dean, if I tell you something can you promise me that you won’t tell another soul?”

“Of course, yeah, definitely,” Dean assures him. “I’ll keep your secrets, Cas.”

“I appreciate it.”

“So…” Dean always feels a little off his game when Castiel shows him his vulnerable side like this. “What’s up?”

“I found her,” Castiel says. “Anna, that is. She’s here on earth, reborn as a human.”

Dean knows right away that this is a serious problem because Cas is using his “woe is me” voice. They’ve spent enough time together that Dean can easily distinguish ordinary griping from genuine concerns.

“Why don’t you sound happy about that?” Dean asks. “I’d have thought you’d be stoked to see your long lost sister.”

“What Anna did is considered a grave offense,” Castiel replies. “There is no human equivalent for a crime of this severity.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Our standing orders are to kill her.”

“Yep,” Dean laughs humorlessly. “Sounds about right.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Castiel confesses brokenly.

“Seriously, dude?” Dean asks. “Do you really need me to tell you not to murder your sister in cold blood? Come on!”

“It’s not murder,” Castiel argues, though with little conviction. “It’s carrying out god’s orders.”

Dean gives Cas the side eye and asks, “If God wanted Anna dead don’t you think she’d already be dead?”

“Do you believe in God?” Castiel asks him after a beat of silence.

Dean sighs tiredly. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

And it’s true. The more time he spends with Cas and the more time he spends away from his father the less black and white the world seems. Dean’s changing, and so is his world.

“I don’t want to kill her.”

“Then don’t,” Dean says simply. “Isn’t there some kind of loophole?”

“Well…” Castiel leans closer to Dean and lowers his tone. “Technically I’m not authorized to use my celestial powers or harm any creature unless it’s in the interest of your safety.”

Dean has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “Killing an innocent teenage girl doesn’t sound like something that’s in the interest of my safety,” he says in a stage whisper.

“Indeed it does not,” Castiel agrees solemnly. Whether or not he picked up on Dean’s theatrics seems to be irrelevant.

“See, no worries.” Dean says. “Problem solved. I’ve got your back.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, sounding genuinely relieved. “Regardless of whether or not you believe in God, I know you make him very proud.”

Dean has to actively resist the urge to burrow under the blankets and hide. “You are _so_ embarrassing, Cas,” he says. “Didn’t they give you some sort of training in heaven before they unleashed you on all of us?”

“No,” Castiel admits. “My garrison has been watching humanity from above for over two millennia. It was believed that this experience would be sufficient, as it has been for other angels.”

Dean shifts and leans on his side so he can face Castiel. “So you’re defective is what you’re telling me.”

Castiel bristles at Dean’s words. “I am _not_ – oh…” He stops, having caught a glimpse of Dean’s smile. “You’re teasing me.”

“Does it bother you?” Dean asks, propping his chin up on his elbow.

“Hmm?” Castiel turns and shimmies down a bit until he can look Dean in the eye. “Does what bother me?”

“When I tease you.” Dean yawns and blinks sleepily before asking, “Does it bother you when I tease you?”

“Playful teasing is a sign of acceptance.” Castiel smiles, “And the ability to recognize and understand these jokes is a sign of deep cultural understanding.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Just checking.” And then he’s struck by the strangest urge to reach out and stroke Castiel’s face, despite his personal rules regarding Cas and touching. Dean resists, of course, but it’s hard to convince his sleepy brain not to act on all of these urges.

“I really don’t mind,” Castiel says. “You tease everyone, but you tease me the most. It makes me special.”

That’s one way of looking at it.

“You are so weird, man,” Dean tells him.

“Not as weird as you,” Cas counters.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Castiel nods. “As I said before, I’ve been watching humanity for longer than you can imagine, and… you are truly unique. I have the power to perform miraculous feats and there’s very little I wouldn’t do for you, yet you are content to remain as you are with what you have just as long as Sam is safe. That degree of selflessness is very unusual.”

“It’s a big brother thing.”

“No,” Castiel says plainly. “It’s not a big brother thing. And I don’t understand how you are this way when your father is…” Castiel purses his lips. “I’m talking too much.”

Yes, Dean wants to tell him, yes you are. Except this is just Cas, and Dean’s getting sleepier by the minute, and it’s just Cas. Who’s Cas going to tell? Dean trusts Cas.

“It’s cool, man.” Dean tries to punch Cas lightly in the shoulder but he doesn’t have the energy to lift his free hand. “I guess I get it from my mom.”

“Mary Winchester?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes.

He doesn’t like talking about his mother because thinking about her makes his heart ache. Sometimes it hurts to think about their lives before the fire. John never mentions Mary except in the context of her death, and Sam seems to understand that Dean’s memories are sacred and private.

“What was she like?” Castiel asks, because no one’s ever warned him not to pry.

But he’s Cas.

“She was _amazing_.” Dean says, shutting his eyes. “She made the _best_ pies, really, Cas. I know people say that stuff about their mom’s cooking all the time, but I got to tell you, I’ve tried a lot of pies, and, man, nothing even comes close. I remember…” Dean yawns. “I remember… she was beautiful, really beautiful. When Mom smiled everyone smiled – even when she and Dad were fighting. I wish you could have met her. She had a thing about angels. She would have loved you.”

And it’s true. Mary would have _adored_ Cas, and not even just because of the angel thing. There’s something about him… Dean doesn’t know what it is, and if he did he wouldn’t know what to call it, but he knows his mom would have appreciated it. She probably would have found all his bizarre little eccentricities kind of cute. Dean’s certainly gotten used to them, and when he’s feeling honest he can admit that they’re kind of endearing.

Dean shifts so he’s lying on his back again. His eyelids are heavy so he keeps them closed but he can still feel Castiel breathing next to him, and when he hears the rumble of Cas’s voice against his ear and his stomach drops.

“She sounds wonderful,” Castiel says. He’s much, much too close, and despite feeling very, very warm, Dean shivers. “Are you okay?” Cas asks, concerned. “You’re not cold, are you?”

“No,” he says, too exhausted to think. “This is perfect.”

“I don’t have a mother,” Castiel says, and Dean can feels the words, _feel_ them. “But I have God and the heavenly host and…”

Castiel keeps talking but Dean’s not really listening. Listening takes too much effort and Dean’s just about running on empty. If he had any energy he’d be using it to urge Cas on and ask for more. He doesn’t need to understand what Cas is saying to enjoy hearing him speak. It’s nice just to be close to someone. It’s nice to have a friend.

And those are last thoughts he has before drifting off to sleep.

 

 

Dean’s alarm rings at 6 am every morning and he usually presses the snooze button four or five times before finally working up the resolve to crawl out of bed. The morning after his late night talk with Cas, Dean wakes up refreshed and doesn’t hit the snooze button once.

With almost an hour to kill he decides to make pancakes, hoping that a good breakfast will put Sam into a chatty mood.

The kid doesn’t disappoint.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Castiel?” Sam asks, after inhaling an entire short stack.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You guys are always together now,” Sam says. “You have to admit that it’s a strange turn of events…”

It’s true. It’s finally too cold to be outside on the school roof for hours everyday, so it’s perfectly acceptable for Cas and Dean to make up the lost time at Bobby’s.

Though now Dean’s feeling a little nervous because Sam is looking at him like he knows the reason why Dean’s in such a good mood is because he fell asleep to the sound of Castiel, the angel, whispering stories about god and heaven into his ear.

“He’s my friend, Sammy,” Dean says with forced calm. “Friends spend time together.”

Sam fixes Dean with a level stare and says, “You don’t have friends. You’ve never been like this with any of the other kids at any of the other schools.”

“Yeah, well Cas isn’t like other kids,” Dean says. “He’s…different.”

“How?” Sam asks. “What makes him so special?”

Dean’s tempted to tell him it’s a pair of wings and a halo that make him so special, but instead, simply shrugs and says, “He’s weird and it’s funny.”

“Did you tell him?” Sam asks seriously.

“No, I didn’t tell him,” Dean lies. “I’m not an idiot, Sammy.”

“I never said you were. I was just curious, that’s all.”

There’s something in his tone that Dean can’t yet identify but already knows he doesn’t like.

“You’re the one who said I should talk to him,” Dean says.

Sam laughs and shakes his head. “Dean, you don’t have to justify hanging out with him to me. I’m happy you made a friend.”

“And what about you?” Dean asks, because this is supposed to be about Sammy, not him. “When were you planning on telling me about your little girlfriend, Jess?”

“I wasn’t,” Sam replies. “But now that you mention it, I guess I’ll have to.”

“I want to meet her.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” Dean pleads. “I’ll take you crazy kids out for burgers on Friday. It’ll be fun.”

“No,” Sam says firmly. “Absolutely not. I still haven’t forgiven you for last time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Her parents pulled her out of school after that and sent her to live in a convent,” Sam’s expression darkens. “It was awful and I swore to myself that I’d never let it happen again.”

Dean heaves a frustrated sigh. “How was I supposed to know she was a devout Catholic?”

“You were never supposed to meet her!” Sam shouts. “It’s none of your business. None of this is any of your business!”

It’s time for Dean to show Sam that this angsty teen bullshit is no match for the protective big brother card.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean tells him. “It’s my job to look out for you. It’s my business to know where you are and who you’re with. I’m not asking anymore, Sammy.”

Sam glares, giving Dean the bitchiest of bitch faces, before standing up to collect his and Dean’s empty plates and placing them in the sink. When he turns back around to face Dean, there’s challenge in his eyes.

“Fine,” he says, “but only if you bring Castiel too.”

“Cas doesn’t eat,” Dean says, smirking because it’s the truth. Sam’s going to have to try a lot harder than that to get Dean to back down.

“What do you mean he doesn’t eat?”

Dean’s an idiot.

“He just doesn’t eat in front of other people,” Dean says, thinking fast. “He’s very self conscious.”

And Sam actually seems to buy it.

“That’s why he wears the trench coat, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” Dean says, busying himself with the remaining dishes, not wanting to leave a mess for Bobby.

“Well, he doesn’t have to eat,” Sam says. “He can just sit there and stare at you until we leave. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“Don’t start that, Sammy,” Dean says, giving him a warning look. Castiel doesn’t deserve Sam’s scorn.

“Or maybe,” Sam continues as if Dean hadn’t just spoken, “ _you_ can stare at _him_ while he sits in your lap and tells your bible stories.”

If Dean had still been holding dishes he would be sweeping up shards off the floor.

“ _Excuse_ _me_?”

“I’ve seen you two in the garage,” Sam says, sounding less sure of himself now. “You sit so close together he’s practically on top of you. I’m not blind, and I hear the way he talks to you. That’s not normal.”

Dean clenches his jaw and breathes in deeply through his nostrils, willing himself not to lose his temper. He closes his eyes and keeps them shut as he exhales. Dean refuses to blow up at Sam. Dean is going to be better than his dad. When he opens his eyes the first thing he sees is Sam’s regret.

“None of us are normal,” Dean tells him. “The sooner you learn to accept that the better off you’ll be.”

“Dean –”

“And do me a favor and lay off Cas, alright? You don’t know him so don’t talk about him like that.”

“Dean…” Sam tries again. “I’m sorry. I just…” he sighs. “I really like this girl.”

“All the more reason why I should meet her,” Dean says, and the conversation is over.

 

 

Jessica Moore is perfect. She’s the smartest student in the freshman class, and the most beautiful girl Sam’s ever met. Earlier he overheard her referring to him as her boyfriend, and now his face hurts because he just can’t stop smiling. Jess makes him happy. She makes him feel normal.

Sam waits until they’re eating lunch together in the cafeteria to mention the ultimatum. Sam hoped that she’d be too busy to have dinner with Dean but no such luck. Jess is free on Friday night and she can’t wait meet his infamous older brother.

“What’s he like?” Jess asks. “You don’t really talk about him.”

“Dean…” Sam’s drawing a blank because he hasn’t yet figured out how to explain his brother without revealing too much about his family and past. He doesn’t want to scare her away. “There’s not much to say about Dean…”

“Come on, Sam,” Jess says, smiling knowingly. “I’ve seen your homework. If you can manage to write a five thousand words essay on the Dewey Decimal system you can find something to say about your brother.”

Might as well get this over with now.

“Remember how I told you that my family situation was a little complicated?” Sam asks.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she says, her smile fading fast. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to tell me.”

“It’s fine,” Sam assures her. “I just wanted to give fair warning. We’re a little dysfunctional.”

“I’m not going to judge you, Sam” Jess says gently.

“I know,” he says, “and I want to tell you about my family, it’s just…”

“You live with your uncle, right?” Jess asks. “Let’s start there.”

Okay, Bobby is safe subject. He’s one of the few people in Sam’s life who doesn’t add to the chaos.

“My Uncle Bobby isn’t related to us by blood,” Sam explains. “But he’s still family. He’s been like a father to me, actually.”

“Where’s your real dad?”

“He’s on a job right now,” Sam replies vaguely. “He has to travel a lot for work. That’s why we’re living with Bobby.”

“What does your dad do?” Jess asks.

“He’s a bounty hunter,” Sam says, because close enough. “That’s why we move around so much.”

“What about your mom?” Jess asks. “Are your parents divorced like mine?”

“No.” Sam shifts in his seat. “My mom died when I was a baby.”

“Oh, Sam…” Jess reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sam shrugs uncomfortably. “It happened a long time ago.”

“Still,” Jess says. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.” She squeezes his hand. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her. “I was only a few months old when it happened. I don’t really remember her. Dean was the one who took care of me.” Sam sighs. “That’s why he’s so overprotective and thinks he has the right to interfere in my life.”

“He sounds like a good guy,” Jess tells him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sam starts, “I love my brother, I really do, and I’m lucky to have him, but he can’t seem to accept the fact that I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“That must be frustrating for you,” Jess says, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Incredibly frustrating,” Sam says. “But it’s not really his fault. I blame my dad mostly. Dean really looks up to him, and he’s constantly telling him that I’m his responsibility.”

“I would have never guessed that he’d be so family oriented.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.

“Your brother… he’s kind of…” Jess hesitates for a moment. “The girls really like to talk about him.”

That’s not exactly breaking news, but Sam can tell there’s something she’s holding back. “What do they say about him?”

“He’s all anyone would talk about the first few weeks of school. My friend Amy thinks he’s dreamier than Dr. Sexy, and most of the other freshman girls agree. They couldn’t shut up about how ‘cool’ he looks wearing his leather jacket or driving his car. It was a little pathetic. Then Bela Talbot told everyone that he’s some kind of sex god, and Lydia said he was sleeping with at least five other girls while they were dating.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Sam says.

“But that was all in the beginning of the year,” Jess says. “Lately all of the rumors have been about him and that Castiel boy. Are they really together?”

“Well…” Sam’s voice trails off as he stops to think. “It’s kind of complicated. My brother is complicated.”

And by complicated Sam means bisexual. He strongly suspects that Castiel is Dean’s secret boyfriend. Knowing that other people see it too is all it takes to convince him. 

Up until recently Sam never questioned his brother’s orientation. That’s probably John’s fault too. If Dean were ever interested in another guy, wanting to live up to their father’s expectations would force him to repress and deny those feelings.

Sam was shocked when he discovered that Dean was spending time with Castiel voluntarily. He could sense that there was something weird about their friendship too. It’s intimate – _emotionally_ intimate. He’s never seen his brother look at anyone the way he looks at Castiel. There’s trust in his eyes. Sam can’t even imagine what Castiel had to say or do to earn Dean’s trust. When they spoke about Castiel at breakfast Sam completely misjudged Dean’s attitude. He mistakenly assumed Dean was being defensive because he was embarrassed.

But Dean’s not embarrassed at all. He respects Castiel. He has feelings for Castiel. Sam mistook Dean’s protectiveness for defensiveness. If he had known how right he was about all the canoodling going on in the garage he wouldn’t have mentioned it.

The garage must be their little love nest. A week or so ago Sam witnessed some strange behavior out there, and he kept telling himself that it wasn’t what it looked like, but now he’s not so sure.

“Teaching some girl how to change her car’s oil” has become synonymous with “Having sex in the backseat of some girl’s car.” Dean’s whole routine is like something out of a bad porno, but it apparently has a ridiculously high success rate. Back in September, Sam accidentally walked in on his brother groping a girl he recognized from math class on the hood of her car. It was traumatizing.

In Dean’s defense, when Sam caught him in a similar position with Castiel, it really did sound like he was teaching Castiel about auto maintenance, and Dean wasn’t actually groping him. The scene was suggestive, not indecent, but still riddled with red flags.

Sam recognized the car they were looking at as one of the ones from the lot. Dean had removed the hood, allowing for unobstructed access to all of the engine components and parts. Dean did the same thing for Sam back when Sam was learning the basics, and that’s what made the lesson seem somewhat legitimate.

But Sam has since started to doubt. He can’t imagine a real teacher pressing himself against a student the way Dean was pressed against Castiel. If they had been lying down instead of leaning over the front of the car Sam would have called it spooning.

“I think they’re cute together,” Jess says. “Almost like something out of a fairytale…”

Sam snorts. “A fairytale?”

“Dean Winchester, senior class Lothario, falls for Castiel, the hopelessly uncool and devoutly religious social outcast.”

That’s not exactly what Sam considers a fairly tale, but he’ll keep that thought to himself. Still, he needs to make one or two things clear to Jess.

“Um, look…” he clears his throat. “I agree with you about everything, but you should know that Dean hasn’t actually admitted to being in a relationship with Castiel. Whatever’s going on between them is a secret.”

“That’s pretty silly,” Jess says. “They do a terrible job hiding their feelings. They’re clearly in love.”

Sam wouldn’t go that far, but it is fairly obvious that they’re more than just friends. The relationship is unprecedented because, from what Sam can tell, it’s not about promiscuous sex. If they’re not open about being together they might not be sexually involved yet. They could be taking it slow. Dean’s behavior is a mystery, and for once Sam has zero insight to offer.

“He’s supposed to bring Castiel with him,” Sam says. “When we all go out.”

“So it’s like a double date?” Jess asks, a smile spreading across her face.

“I don’t really know what to call it,” Sam admits. “He got kind of touchy when I implied that he and Castiel had been fooling around in the garage. He told me not to talk about him that way.”

“That’s sweet.” Jess giggles. “He was defending his boyfriend’s honor. Maybe Dean Winchester is a gentleman after all.”

“Let’s not get carried away…”

Perhaps Sam really has been overreacting. With Castiel there keeping Dean subdued what’s the worst that could happen? 

 

 

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks.

Dean can always tell when Cas has been out hunting or fulfilling his angel duties because when he returns he’s all questions and concerns. It’s oddly sweet but at the same time extremely irritating. Usually Dean just tells him to shut up and stop being so neurotic but for once he’s got it right. If Dean looks like he’s in a rotten mood, it’s probably because he’s in a rotten mood.

“I had a fight with Sam this morning,” Dean confesses.

Castiel frowns and gives him an awkward little shoulder pat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean sighs wearily. “You’re kind of a part of this now too.”

“Me?” Castiel asks, taken aback.

Dean nods. “I’m having dinner with Sam and his girlfriend and Sam’s forcing me to bring you.”

“I see.” Castiel looks thoughtful. “And you would rather I not attend?”

“That’s not – I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean says quickly.

“It’s not a problem,” Castiel says. “If you don’t want me there I won’t come.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you there…”

“It’s alright,” Castiel assures him. “I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself. I am aware of my shortcomings in regards to human social interaction. I don’t want to embarrass you or make anyone uncomfortable.”

Dean scowls. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he says gruffly. “You don’t embarrass me and I don’t give a rats ass who you make uncomfortable. That’s their problem, not ours.”

“Then why don’t you want me to come?” Castiel asks with a confused frown.

“Stop,” Dean groans. “I never said I didn’t want you to come! I think I’ve made it pretty clear I like hanging out with you. It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Sam’s been a little weird about you.”

“Oh,” says Castiel.

“He’s just not used to me making actual friends,” Dean says, elaborating. “At the other schools I usually… I spent most of my time with girls getting laid. And now, instead, I’m always with you. I think he just doesn’t know what to make of it.”

“I don’t mean to monopolize your attention,” Castiel tells him, looking genuinely troubled. “And, as I’ve said before, if you want privacy…”

“Dude, relax,” Dean says, flashing what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m not complaining. I think I would have died of boredom by now if it weren’t for you.”

“If you were to suffer a premature demise, I’d imagine demons would be a more likely culprit,” Castiel says seriously.

Dean gives him a sideways look. “I don’t know about that. You seem to be better at keeping the demons away then you are at keeping me entertained.”

“It’s not my job to entertain you.”

“You know…” Dean says. “You could kill two birds with one stone if you just let me go hunting with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Castiel says, giving him a hard look. “If you’re really that bored you can try studying.”

Dean snorts. “I really don’t get why you even bother with schoolwork. It’s not like you have to worry about a GPA.”

“When you’re given an assignment you should complete it to the best of your ability,” Castiel says primly.

“That sounds like something my dad would say.”

“Your father is a very determined man,” Castiel offers after a beat of silence.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know he’s obsessed.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No worries,” Dean says. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”

“You already know I think he’s very lucky to have you as a son,” Castiel tells him earnestly.

Dean shakes his head and tries not to blush. “Cas, man you are so lame.”

And he means it. The kid is probably the biggest cornball he’s ever met and half the time Dean doesn’t know whether he should feel personally gratified or vicariously embarrassed.

Castiel allows himself a small smile. “I find myself amused by how uncomfortable such compliments render you.”

The little shit!

“You know,” Dean starts, giving him a dirty look. “Sometimes I think I liked you better when you were shy and eager to please.”

“Truly?” Castiel asks, and there’s uncertainty in his tone, which, of course, makes Dean feels like an ass.”

“Yes, truly,” Dean replies. “I liked it _so_ much better when you were constantly staring at me like you had no clue what I was talking about, and I respected you _way_ more back before you started calling me out on my bullshit, and you were _much_ more fun when you were uptight about rules.”

“Dean…” Castiel sighs and shakes his head. “Make no mistake, I hold you in the highest regards, but I can’t understand why all these girls let you believe that you’re so very charming and funny.”

Dean whistles and punches Castiel lightly in the arm. “Look at you!”

“You recognized my joke,” Castiel says, sounding pleased.

“I did.” Dean grins. “Maybe you’re not so bad at acting human, after all.  How long have you been saving that one for?”

“Long enough,” Castiel admits.

Dean bursts into laughter and says, “I’ll bet!”

 

 

After Castiel leaves Dean feels his rotten mood settle in once again, and by bedtime it’s back to full force. Dean can’t sleep but he doesn’t like having to rely on Cas to make him feel better. So instead of calling him, Dean helped himself to Bobby’s liquor and got to sleep the old fashioned way. Unlike Cas, alcohol doesn’t leave you refreshed and rejuvenated come morning, so he’s running a little late.

Sam’s still giving Dean the silent treatment. Dean will say it doesn’t bother him, but it bothers him a lot. For once he looks forward to going to school.

Castiel is waiting outside of their English classroom looking even more disheveled than usual. He’s got the terrified eyes of a rabbit staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. It’s kind of adorable.

“What’s up man?” Dean asks. He’s on the way to his locker, but he figures he has a minute or two to spare.

“It’s time,” Castiel whispers.

“Time for what?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “Your presentation?” he guesses.

Castiel nods. “She said I’m to go first.”

“I still can’t believe you’re worried about this,” says Dean. “It’s not like your grades matter. God’s not going to punish you if you don’t ace English.”

“I feel,” Castiel swallows audibly, “ill, Dean. I feel ill.”

“It’ll go away,” Dean says, refusing to baby him. “Stop worrying.”

“It won’t go away,” Castiel insists. “I can’t stop worrying.”

“Are you even trying?” Dean asks. “Because it’s really not that difficult…”

“Of course I’m trying I –” Castiel pauses and his eyes widen even further. “Dean, I think I need to vomit but I don’t know how.”

This is when Cas’s antics go from hilarious and kind of cute, to downright annoying.

“You’re not going to puke,” Dean tells him. “You don’t eat.”

“But I can feel the gastric acid rising in my esophagus.”

Dean exhales impatiently. He already gave him a pep talk. Even as a friend he’s not obligated to do any more than that. It should be enough. “Stop that,” Dean says. “You’re not allowed to freak out over something this lame. Aren’t you supposed to be a badass warrior?”

But it’s like Cas can’t even hear him. “There is sweat on my palms,” Castiel says. “Sweat.”

“Come on!” Dean growls, frustrated. “It’s five minutes in front of a room of stupid teenagers. Man up!”

“ _Dean!_ ”

It shames him a bit, when Cas shouts his name all panicky and strangled sounding. Cas rarely if ever asks anything of Dean. He knows that the demons they encountered at the gas station were not the only ones Cas has sent back to hell in these past few weeks. The very least Dean can do is try not to be a total dick.

“Alright,” he says, holding his hands up in a gesture of concession.  “Alright, just calm down.”

“I’m nervous,” Cas says, as if he hasn’t made it abundantly clear already.

Dean smiles indulgently. “I get that, Cas. I’m reading you loud and clear.”

“How… how do I stop it?”

And he looks so damn pathetic Dean really just can’t help himself. “C’mere,” he says, surprisingly gentle. “First you got to look sharp.”

And so Cas gets all up in Dean’s personal space and Dean decides just this once he’ll meet him halfway. He fusses with Cas’s tie and tries to straighten the shoulders of the stupid trench coat when he knows it doesn’t really matter. The teacher won’t care if Cas looks unkempt, but what else can Dean do?

He lets his hands still and linger on Cas’s upper arms and he tells himself that it’s not a big deal. He’d do this for Sam too, probably. It still feels kind of intimate because when Cas is quiet and his eyes are so clear and blue, he seems so human and so vulnerable. Dean starts to ask himself what John would do in his position but realizes that’s a horrible idea and immediately stops.

“I don’t think I can do this,” says Castiel.

“Sure you can.” Dean licks his dry lips and wracks his brain for the right thing to say. “Just… pretend it’s only me. You never get nervous when it’s just us, right?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head slightly. “That’s not true. I was especially nervous yesterday night when we were alone in your bedroom.”

“Oh.” Dean is suddenly very conscious of the other students loitering in the hallway. “That’s… not what I meant.” He shoots a glance over his shoulder and is relieved to find that they have not yet attracted an audience. Regardless, he leans in and lowers his tone. “That was a different kind of nervous though, right?”

“I believe so,” Castiel says, clutching the ends of the trench coat belt with trembling hands. “This is far less pleasant.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “What’s the real problem here? What are you _really_ afraid of?” Because Dean is a man of action. He can’t do the hand holding crap, but he can fix shit. He’s gotten really good at fixing shit over the years. So if Cas just tells him what the problems is he can fix it. “There’s got to be something specific that bothers you, so what is it?”

“I don’t know!” Castiel snaps. “This fear is entirely irrational, I understand that part. I’ve tried logic. Logic isn’t working. What am I supposed to do?”

Dean has no clue. Dean has no freaking clue, and class will be starting any minute now.

“What’s so scary about all of this? Dean asks. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’m afraid I’ll look foolish,” Castiel says in a small voice.

“But you always look foolish,” Dean says, not realizing how cruel that must sound until the words have already left his mouth.

Castiel closes his eyes. “I keep imagining myself making an error and then my vessel’s mouth will inexplicably cease functioning. The students will laugh at me, of course. Or perhaps the shame will cause me to lose control of my grace and I will inadvertently burn their eyes out. I’ve never had to manage so many emotions. I’m not even supposed to have them! There’s a chance I might even explode and obliterate half of the state. Either way, my failure will bring dishonor to the heavenly host. I will have disappointed my father. I will be… discharged and dismissed of my duties. I’ll never be allowed back to earth. I’ll never see you again. I’ll—”

“Enough,” Dean cuts in, because they’re running out of time. “That’s not going to happen. You’re not going to mess up, you’re not going to blind anyone, you’re not going to explode, and no one is going to laugh at you.”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel says, opening his eyes. “You’re not a prophet.”

“Yeah, but I’m Dean Winchester, and I’m telling you right now that I won’t let any of that shit happen.”

If Cas is called back to heaven for any reason it better be a good one and it better not be permanent. Dean will refuse to work with any other angel. He will do everything in his power to thwart their authority and interfere with whatever plans they have for him in the future. Cas absolutely cannot be replaced.

“I don’t wish to burden you –” Castiel starts.

Dean reaches out and gives Castiel’s shoulder a firm squeeze, effectively silencing him. “Just shut up and trust me, okay? We have to go. The bells about to ring.”

They’ve been standing so close together that Castiel has to step back to look Dean in the eye. “Okay,” he breathes.

“Right.” Dean unclasps Castiel’s shoulder and gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “I’ll meet you inside.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asks, clearly distressed by the thought of Dean leaving.

“Cas, man, it’s like ninety degrees in this building and I’m wearing five layers.” Dean unzips his jacket in one swift, fluid motion. “I got to put this thing in my locker before I roast.”

“Oh,” Castiel swallows. “Of course.”

“It’ll just take a minute,” Dean assures him. “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

As Castiel turns and walks through the classroom door, Dean reminds himself that, while the guy is acting like a baby in a trenchcoat, he’s really a bamf and he doesn’t need to be coddled.

And Dean was just imagining that overwhelming urge to grab him and hold him.

 

 

The late bell rings just as Dean slams his locker door shut. Mrs. Gamble spends the first ten minutes of every class taking role and answering questions about upcoming assignments or the previous readings. So when Dean hears a distinctly female voice mention his name as he’s passing by what he had mistakenly assumed to be an unused classroom he allows himself a minute to investigate.

“Number one has to be Dean Winchester,” the voice says firmly.

“Agreed,” a second voice says.

“Ditto,” chimes in a third.

He can just make out their words, but the sound is too muffled for him to recognize the voices. Three girls are blowing off class to sit in the dark and make a list, a list that seems to have Dean at the top. His interest is, understandably, piqued and he’s tempted to stick around to find out more but he knows Cas is waiting on him so he decides it’d be best if he kept walking.

Until he realizes they’re talking about Sammy too, then, suddenly, learning more about the list is Dean’s top priority.

“You know, in a couple of years I bet little Winchester will break the top five too.”

“Must be good genes.”

“Must be.”

Whoever these girls are, and whatever it is they’re talking about, at least the have their facts straight. Sam and Dean have excellent genes.

“I think we should maybe bump Patrick up and make Elias number nine.”

“Yeah, that haircut was a mistake.”

“I think we should take him off the list all together.”

“And replace him with who?”

“I don’t know. What’s the name of that baseball player with the facial hair? He’s kind of cute.”

“He’s not a baseball player. He wears that hat because he’s balding.”

“Oh. Ew.”

“ _Yeah_.”

Dean finds himself nodding in agreement. Pre-mature hair loss is one of Dean’s worst nightmares. Still, his interest is waning and he really doesn’t have time for this. He’s got somewhere important to be and someone important waiting on him.

“We should add Castiel, that boy from history class.”

Maybe he can spare just one more minute…

“You think weird trench coat kid deserves to be on the list?

“Do you know any another Castiel?”

“I’m actually with you on this one. He’s very striking.”

“He’s sorta pretty, I guess.”

“Well, I think he’s beautiful.”

_Cas? Beautiful?_ Cas isn’t beautiful. Cas is a guy. He can kill a monster with his bare hands. He has leg hair. He’s not… beautiful.

“But that doesn’t mean he’s hot. This is supposed to be a list of the most bangable dudes at school. We can’t just stick him on there because he’s got an interesting face.”

This has to be a joke. Castiel is not _bangable,_ nor does he belong on any hit list. This is _Cas_ they’re talking about. Dean tries to imagine him sweaty and flushed and writhing, naked in his bed and – _oh my god_.

Castiel is his friend. He’s a nerdy, _male_ , angel and Dean should not be thinking about him like that. Dean doesn’t want to be thinking about him like that. He especially doesn’t want anyone else to be thinking about him like that. Cas isn’t like that.

“Do you have any classes with him?” he hears one of the girls ask.

“No.”

“Then you’ve never heard him speak?”

“I don’t think so, why?”

 “Castiel’s voice is….”

“Sexy.”

“ _Damn_ sexy.”

Have these girls been sniffing glue? Dean’s willing to admit that they guy’s voice is kind of pleasant when he speaks softly and it’s dark, but that’s a far cry from being sexy. If he weren’t so accustomed to it he’d probably still think it sounded like a broken lawnmower.

“And shouldn’t hooking up with number one on the list automatically earn him a spot?”

Now he’s certain they’re insane. Cas isn’t hooking up with anyone, and he’s definitely not hooking up with – _no way._

“So it’s true then?” a girl asks.

No _freakin'_ way _._

“I thought that was just a rumor!” another girl squeals.

They don’t honestly believe Dean and Cas are together, do they? How can anyone doubt his sexuality when he’s such a notorious player? Sure, it’s been a couple months but Dean can’t even remember the names of all the girls he’s slept with at this stupid school.

“I know for a fact that Winchester is straight.”

Because he is! Having a handful of sexy thoughts about another dude doesn’t make him gay.

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“Have you noticed the way they look at each other?” one of the girls says dreamily. “Like there’s no one else in the room…”

“And it’s suspicious the way they stand so close together but never touch. There’s obvious sexual tension.”

“And then they disappear together for hours…”

“Nobody knows where they go but we all know what they’re doing.”

They’re just hanging out and talking! Everyone knows Castiel is a giant weirdo. Why are they reading so much into something as trivial as body language? Cas clearly just doesn’t understand social conventions. That’s not evidence of a secret gay love affair.

“They’re both guys so I guess it’s no wonder they can’t keep it in their pants.”

Now that’s just sexist.

“Who do you think…?”

“Winchester tops, for sure.”

Dean can’t believe he’s hearing this.

“I still don’t buy it.”

“Winchester carries his books for him. If that doesn’t scream ‘boyfriend’ then I don’t know what does.”

Castiel insists on bringing all of his books with him everywhere he goes. Dean only helps him carry some of them because he doesn’t want anyone to notice Castiel’s unusual strength and get suspicious. That and he’s not a complete asshole.

“I went out with Dean, remember?” the skeptic says. “I can tell you, definitively, from personal experience, Dean Winchester likes girls.” She laughs. “ _Really_ likes them.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t like guys too. And you said it yourself, Castiel is pretty.”

“It could be an inside/outside thing too. Like, he’s attracted to what’s on the inside and doesn’t care so much about what’s on the outside. Gender is a _total_ social construct.”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever liked someone for their personality?”

“No.”

“Regardless, there’s no doubt in my mind that Castiel is head over heels in love with Winchester.”

“Now _that_ I’m more willing to believe.”

“Wanna know what Becky Rosen told me?”

“What?”

“Becky was in charge of getting quotes for this Thanksgiving fluff piece the journalism club had planned on printing in the student newspaper. Guess what Castiel said he was thankful for this year.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did. He told her that he was thankful for “God’s love” and Dean Winchester.”

“Aww. That’s adorable!”

It’s not though. It’s just weird. Castiel is weird, so of course he’s going to have weird answers. This whole thing is beyond ridiculous.

“Becky’s really pushing for the yearbook club to put them on the ballot for cutest couple.”

“They have my vote,” one girl says, giggling.

“You guys are insane.”

The girls keep talking, but Dean stops listening. He’s more than a little bit in shock. Apparently half the school is convinced that when Cas and Dean are absent from class it’s because they’re off having a nooner in a supply closet. They think Dean’s gay. Not that Dean has a problem with gay people; he just doesn’t appreciate being labeled something he’s not. Not to mention, his sexuality is nobody’s goddamn business but his own.

 

 

Dean’s made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime. Live and learn, right?

Some mistakes stay dormant, like a virus, incubating, spreading, sly and sinister, symptoms only showing when it’s too late to fight the infection. This is not that kind of mistake. The second Dean decides to skip English class is the second he realizes that he’s eating hemlock. He knows he could easily turn around and walk back into the school. He could spit out the poison and no one would have to know. He’d show up just in time to save the day. Cas would forgive him for being late.

Dean just can picture’s his reaction. Cas would never think to hide his happiness and relief. His eyes would widen ever so slightly when their gazes meet. He’d probably stop talking and wait for Dean to sit down before continuing the presentation. His posture would relax and he might even sigh. Dean would give him the thumbs up and in return Cas would flash him the most awkward of smiles.

They’d both be too distracted to notice the other students snickering and exchanging knowing glances. Sammy would treat going out for burgers with Jess and Cas like it’s a double date, and girls would stop asking for his number and start asking him for fashion advice. John would probably joke about it and call him a fairy to disguise the fact that he’s uncomfortable with his son’s sexuality. Bobby would probably try to give him a talk about using protection, and Dean would laugh and tell him he doesn’t need a lecture about safe sex, and Bobby would call him an idjit and hand him a set of matching anti possession symbol pendants because it’s not memories of STDs that keep Bobby up at night.

But then Dean would have to confess that the pendant is kind of unnecessary because Cas isn’t human. Even if Bobby is cool with Dean dating another dude, Dean doubts he’d be cool with Dean dating a supernatural creature. John would take a break from trying to find the demon that murdered his wife and in favor of trying to find a way to kill his son’s boyfriend. And Sam… Sammy would be excited for Dean and would want to go on more double dates.

What he still doesn’t understand is how the rumors got started. Cas is his best friend. It’s not unusual for best friends to skip class together, look at each other, not touch each other, and help each other carry bulky objects. Cas telling Becky that he’s thankful for Dean doesn’t prove anything either. Cas never responds to a question with a normal answer. It’s a good thing Dean didn’t give Cas that hug. If not touching makes people think they’re sleeping together, he can only imagine what kind of crazy they’d read into a hug.

Now Dean’s going to have to spend five more months at a school where everyone thinks he’s having a steamy love affair with Weird Trench Coat Kid.

Well, not everyone. That one girl sounded pretty skeptical. It might not be too late to squelch the rumors.

Or, maybe, perhaps, he should talk to Cas about them first. It might be wise to figure out how Cas feels. They need to have an honest discussion about where they stand. That would be the mature and responsible course of action.

Only Dean’s not ready for that. He may never be ready for that. He can’t even be sure he doesn’t like Cas, and that’s what scares him the most. He tells himself that he and Cas are just friends because they _are_ just friends. That shouldn’t feel like a lie, but it does. He tells himself that there’s nothing going on and he feels like a liar. That’s not normal.

Or is it? Dean’s never had a best friend before. Maybe this kind of thing happens all the time. He enjoys sex, and he enjoys spending time with Castiel. It would be logical to assume he’d enjoy having both at the same time. He just wants to share one of his favorite activities with one of his favorite people.

They don’t have a touchy-feely relationship, so imagining pushing Cas up against his locker and kissing him senseless should feel unnatural and wrong, but it doesn’t. The mental image – Castiel, dazed and breathless, lips swollen and clothes disheveled – it’s an attractive picture. Who wouldn’t want to be responsible for that? Cas is kinda cute and great at killing things. By Winchester standards, those two traits make him quite a catch.

But Dean’s not gay. He still likes women; that hasn’t changed. It’s obvious that Cas feels a certain affection for him, but those feelings are platonic. He would probably be appalled by the nature of Dean’s thoughts. Castiel doesn’t like him that way, and it’s highly unlikely that he ever will. Cas is an angel, for Christ’s sake. He’s way out of Dean’s league.

Dean doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their friendship. He should not be having sexual fantasies about his best friend. He needs to stop having sexual fantasies about his best friend. If he lets these feelings grow, sooner or later he’s going to slip up and act on them. He’ll destroy their friendship and ruin everything. It’s only a matter of time before this blows up in his face.

Dean doesn’t know how to go about fixing this mess, but he knows that he just can’t handle it right now. So he runs.

Like a coward.

 


	4. January part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is a loneliness in this world so great  
> that you can see it in the slow movement of  
> the hands of a clock  
> (The Crunch, Charles Bukowski)

Dean wakes the next morning feeling naked and vulnerable; like he’s forgetting something important that he promised himself he’d remember but stubbornly refused to write down. Skipping English class and leaving Cas to fend for himself was obviously a mistake.

 

Dean has six classes and on Wednesday Castiel is marked absent in every one of them.

 

For the first time since his mother died Dean prays.

 

Castiel doesn’t come to school on Thursday either.

 

Dean’s prayers were not answered.

 

Nobody ever said Dean was well adjusted. He’s aware of his… slight abandonment issues. It would be surprising if he _didn’t_ get weird about people disappearing from his life without warning.

Castiel could be missing because he’s pissed at Dean and doesn’t want to talk to him; this is his way of punishing him. It could be that Cas is just sick of Dean and has decided to take an impromptu vacation without telling him. There are a lot of benign explanations for his absence.

So naturally Dean believes that Cas is either in serious trouble or already dead, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. Other than prayer, Dean has no way to contact Castiel. All he can do is wait and try not to worry himself sick.

Sam must have noticed Dean’s lack of appetite or seen the dark circles under his eyes because he’s finally decided to stop giving Dean attitude. He’s even stopped trying to worm his way out of going to dinner, and he didn’t freak out when Dean told him Cas wouldn’t be joining them.

Thursday night after dinner Bobby handed Dean a beer and told him to quit moping over whoever it was that dumped him. There are other fish in the sea, after all.

It’s been a long time since Dean has felt this pathetic. He’s just glad John isn’t around to witness his shame. That’s the last thing he needs.

 

 

Dean spots the tan trench coat in a crowded school hallway on Friday morning. He turns the corner and his heart skips a beat because there’s Castiel, walking to class with all of his books, alive.

“Cas!” Dean calls. “Hey, Cas, buddy wait up!” But Castiel keeps walking. “ _Cas!_ ” he shouts.

Finally Castiel stops moving and turns around (as do the rest of the students in the hall.)

Dean knows that he probably looks like a loser running down the hall to catch up to him, but for once he could not give less of a shit about looking cool. If this feeds the rumors then so be it. Dean’s too relieved to see Cas to care.

“Long time no see,” Dean says, slowing as he approaches.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, face devoid of expression, tone devoid of emotion.

Shit.

“Look, Cas…” Dean shuffles his feet, and crap he’s _nervous._ “I’m… I’m sorry about what happened on Tuesday. I really screwed up.”

Castiel stares back at him blankly. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Dean wants to die. “I promised I’d have your back in English and I didn’t. It was a dick move, and you have every right to be pissed at me.”

“It is not of import,” Castiel says dismissively.

Dean almost smiles because he can finally admit to himself that he finds Castiel’s peculiar way of speaking pretty damn awesome. “I understand if you can’t forgive me,” he tells Cas. “I don’t have a good excuse. I’m willing to do just about anything to make it up to you. I want to fix this, Cas, I really do.”

“You misunderstand,” Castiel says. “I’m not angry with you. I don’t have any feelings concerning your behavior during that particular incident.”

Dean narrows his eyes. Something’s off. Cas should be threatening to smite him. He should be furious. “Where’ve you been?” Dean asks. “You were gone for two days.”

“I was conferring with my superiors in the heavenly host,” Castiel replies. “I had begun to lose sight of my mission and they saw fit to give me a reminder.”

And sometimes Cas-speak is not even a little bit cute. “I left my decoder ring at home,” Dean says. “What does that mean?”

“It means I will not succumb to earthly distractions. The purpose of our friendship is not to foster emotional intimacy or foolish sentiment.”

“What do you mean ‘purpose of our friendship’?” Dean feels his heart begin to hammer. “Friends don’t need a reason to be friends, and emotional intimacy is part of the package.”

“I’m not here to be your ‘pal’.” Castiel says. “I need your confidence and your trust but I don’t need your affection. I don’t care about your happiness. Your relationship with your brother is not my concern. My job is to ensure that you remain physically unharmed and that you will be prepared to accept your destiny and play your part when the time comes.”

Dean recoils. Cas’s words felt like a slap in the face. “You don’t actually expect me to believe that crap, do you?”

Because Jesus Christ that is complete bull. Cas isn’t smooth enough to pull off pretending to be his friend for two and a half months. The kid can’t lie for shit. And Dean’s having trouble coming up with a single good reason for why Cas would lie to him now.

“It’s the truth,” Castiel says, sounding as if he actually believes it too.

“Really?” Dean asks. “Says who?”

“God.”

“Right.” Dean scoffs. “ _God_. Is this the same God who told you to stalk me? Did he change his mind? Does he think I’m a bad influence?”

“You think too highly of yourself, Dean,” Castiel says, not touching the bait. “You’re not strong enough to influence me. You don’t have that kind of power.”

“Look, I get that I…” Dean winces, “hurt you. And believe me when I tell you that I regret it, but isn’t this a little bit overkill?”

“I’m done indulging you,” Castiel says impassively. “However you choose to characterize our previous engagements is of no consequence.”

“Indulging me?” Dean says. “Is that what this is? Hanging out and talking and stuff has just been you indulging me?”

“You’re a task, Dean. Nothing more.”

“What the hell, man? Are you even listening to yourself?”

“Are you?” Castiel counters. “I dislike repeating myself. I will continue to ensure that you are not put in harm’s way and intervene when necessary. It would make my job less difficult if we could stay amicable, but that’s not a priority.”

Dean exhales, frustrated, and asks, “What does that even mean?”

“You have been divinely chosen to fight along side the most powerful beings in all of creation,” Castiel says.

“So?”

“If that were not the case I would not be here. Your destiny is my only concern.”

“What does that even mean?” Dean repeats, feeling desperate all of the sudden.

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean," Castiel says. "I serve heaven. I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.”

 

Dean gets to skip math class because the school counselor wants to meet with him. It’s kind of awesome because school is even more unbearable now that he has to sit next to Cas 2.0, but Dean’s not really in the mood to have some nosey old crone pestering him about his family and home lfe. It’s a headache he just doesn’t need.

He waits outside the counselor’s office for a full ten minutes before the office door opens and he’s ushered inside.

“Hello, Mr. Winchester,” a pretty, young brunette says, gesturing for him to take a seat in front of a neatly organized desk. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting all day.”

“ _You’re_ my high school guidance counselor?” he asks in clear disbelief. 

Women with faces and bodies like hers don’t end up in such crappy low-paying jobs. He’s also pretty sure that he met the school counselor during orientation, and he remembers that she was overweight and had a glass eye.

“I’m a temp,” the woman says, with a knowing smile. “And I’m new.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” Dean asks expectantly. He’s still unsure whether or not he’s going to fake a nosebleed and run out of the room

“Yes,” she replies, sitting down opposite him on the other side of the desk. “Why does that surprise you?”

Dean sighs. “Look, lady –

“It’s Tessa,” the woman interjects.

“I don’t need any counseling,” Dean continues, ignoring the interruption.

And it’s true. Dean’s been attending class regularly, he’s not flunking, he hasn’t been fighting, and all of his teachers seem to like him enough. He can’t figure out why any of them would sic the school counselor on him.

“I just got done reading your file,” Tessa tells him.

"Oh yeah?" Dean smirks. “See something you like?”

“I’m not a huge fan of bullshit and inconsistencies,” she says flatly. “So no.”

Dean wasn’t expecting her to be so blunt, but he’s not surprised by her assessment. He’s been to dozens of different schools since leaving Lawrence. His file is probably a mess.

“Sorry about that,” Dean says (except he’s not). “The state of our public school system is appalling. If this country doesn’t start spending more tax money on education we’re going to fall behind.”

Tessa raises her eyebrows. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

Dean nods solemnly. “The international community is laughing at us. You know most Americans can’t find Canada on a world map?” he shakes his head. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You’re very cute,” Tessa tells him. “And you’re intelligent.”

“Nah, you got it all wrong,” Dean says, brushing off the compliment. “ Sam’s the nerd, not me.”

“You can’t both be smart?”

“I didn’t say that.” Dean straightens up and narrows his eyes. “Why was I called down here?”

“You seem to be carrying an unusually heavy burden,” Tessa says gently. “I thought you might want to talk about it.”

That’s a first. Usually they go straight for the mommy and daddy issues (as if he would open up and spill his guts to a stranger). When he was younger he used to stick around for the lollypops. Back then, if they wouldn’t give him extra candy, he would stare at the carpet until his eyes watered so when he looked up they’d think he was on the verge of crying. He’d do anything to earn that extra lollypop because little Sammy loved it when Dean brought home sweets to share.

“Well, I don’t really know what to tell you,” Dean says. “I don’t have any burdens.”

“Dean…” Tessa sighs. “Just say that you don’t want to talk about it. You don’t have to lie. You’re a teenager. It would be weird if you didn’t have something weighing on your mind.”

Dean doesn’t so much as blink. “I guess I’m just weird then.”

“Okay,” Tessa says. “What’s strange about you? Tell me something true.”

Screw it. He’ll tell her something true. There’s no reason why this can’t be fun, and the truth does have its entertainment value. She’ll eventually kick him out for not taking the session seriously. Irony is a beautiful thing.

So Dean looks Tessa in the eye and says, “My best friend is an angel.”

“We’re talking about Castiel?” she asks, completely unperturbed.

Dean’s first instinct is to groan. “Is everyone in this building obsessed with me and Cas?” 

“Hardly,” Tessa laughs. “You said angel, Dean. Who else could you be referring to? Castiel isn’t exactly incognito.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Cas doesn’t do subtle. He calls himself ‘an angel of the lord. He says he’s part of the heavenly host.”

“Is that all he’s told you?” Tessa asks. “Angel’s aren’t known for being forthright.”

Dean eyes her suspiciously. “You believe me?”

“Normally I work as a… grief counselor,” Tessa explains. “You and I both know that there are things out there that aren’t exactly human, and when you’re in the business of death you run into quite a few of them. I know a little bit about angels.”

Is she trying to arouse his suspicion? No sane human, hunters included, would ever seriously admit to believing in angels. Something is definitely up with this chick.

“Christo,” he says with forced calm.

Tessa smiles, evidently amused. “I’m not a demon, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. “Can’t be too careful.”

“And are you careful, Dean?” she asks. “What’s going on with the angel? You wouldn’t have mentioned Castiel if you didn’t want to talk about him.”

Does Dean want to talk about him? Winchester men don’t talk about their problems or their feelings or their relationships. John would probably be embarrassed if he knew his son was even considering opening up to a school counselor. But Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can keep all of this inside. He’s growing more desperate and confused by the minute, and he knows he can't keep this up for much longer.

“Cas…” Dean hesitates, unsure of where to even begin. “Cas and me – we hang out a lot, you know? Nothing complicated.” That’s only half true, of course, but for Dean the partial truth may be as good as it gets. “So, everything was fine until… I let him down.” Dean's not really ready to go there. “And then he flies back to heaven and gets like… reprogramed. Now he’s a total dick. His angel bosses thought he had gotten too attached to me so they’ve turned him into Mister Spock. It sucks.”

“I see. So is his friendship with you against the rules?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, because honestly he knows jack shit about the angels. “Cas was supposed to befriend me to gain my trust. He wasn’t actually supposed to be my friend.”

It’s still difficult for Dean to wrap his head around the whole thing. Cas really had him believing that he liked him. He actually thought that Cas enjoyed hanging out with him, and he feels naïve for it. Dean’s as pathetic as those losers at strip clubs who insist that the strippers are actually interested in them as more than just piggy banks. He’s starting to hate himself just a bit more than usual.

“Why is he here, Dean?” Tessa asks.

“To protect me. I have a special destiny or something. He said I’m supposed to help the angels win an important battle in the future.” Oh god, it sounds so stupid when he says it aloud.

“Do you believe in destiny?” Tessa asks.

“No.” Dean feels his stomach sink because he knows what she’s getting at.

“Do you trust them?”

“They’re angels,” Dean says defensively. “They’re the good guys.” They have to be.

Tessa looks him squarely in the eye. “Is that what your instincts are telling you?”

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t trust him?” Because right now his instincts are telling him that he should have never trusted him.

“Before you met Castiel did know anything about angels?” Tessa asks.

“No,” Dean admits. “I didn’t even think they existed.”

“So all you know for sure is that they’re powerful, secretive, and desperate to control you.”

“I hadn't thought too hard about it, to be perfectly honest with you.” Dean's can't bring himself to tell her that it's because he was having too much fun with Castiel and didn't want to jeopardize their friendship.

“Dean…” Tessa says sternly. “Heaven finds it problematic that the soldier they sent to interfere in your life has started to care about you. Any guesses as to why that might be?”

“They don’t want there to be a conflict of interest,” Dean says after taking a moment to think about it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Do you even want to know what “special destiny” they have in store for you?”

“Not anymore,” Dean says. “I just want everything to go back to the way it was before.”

Before Cas went home for reprogramming or before Dean realized he might have a thing for him?

“Before when?” she asks, her question mirroring his thoughts. “Before you transferred here?”

Dean feels his cheeks redden because he’s so freakin’ lame. “You don’t understand…” he says before growling in frustration. “God, I feel like such an idiot saying this…”

Tessa’s eyes soften. “You really like him, don’t you?”

 “No,” Dean snaps. “Cas isn’t even human.”

“I was admonishing you for trusting the angels,” Tessa tells him. “Caring about your friend isn’t anything to be ashamed of. It’s humanity’s most redeemable quality. You have a good heart, Dean, but you need to look out for yourself too. Castiel isn’t normal – he’s not like the other angels. Don’t let your feelings for him cloud your judgment. It’s time to wake up and get with the picture.”

Dean doesn't like hearing it, but he knows what she's saying is true. 

“What’s your angle in all of this?” he asks, still wary. “Do you really expect me to believe you're warning me out of the goodness of your heart?"

"No, that's the point."

"Well then whose side are you on?”

“I’m not on any side,” Tess says, “I have no desire to get involved. This so called ‘war’ is nothing more than another dance off between angels and demons. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter to us who wins. That being said, I'm here for a reason. We like things the way that are now, and I want you to know that they don’t have to change. War isn’t imminent.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean says, half meaning it too.

Tessa rises from her seat and walks around the desk to stand in front of Dean. “It’s almost time to go,” she says.

This chick may not be possessed by a demon, and she’s not smarmy enough to be an angel, but that still doesn’t make her human. Regardless, Dean doesn’t get the impression that she’s particularly evil, so he’s not going to add “hunting and slaying the cute high school counselor” to his to-do list. He’d never admit it, but Dean’s really enjoying the reprieve from his hunting duties. He doesn’t really miss the killing.  

Still, “If I hear about you eating students or, you know, killing them to complete a ritual sacrifices or something, I will find you and end you. Are we clear?”

“I’ll hold you to that, Dean,” she says. “Hopefully we won’t be seeing each other again for a _long_ time, so there’s something I need you to understand before you leave.”

“I’m listening,” Dean says tentatively.

Tessa reaches forward to cup his face, the gesture is comforting and maternal, and Dean can’t bring himself to pull away.

“You have a choice,” she says. “There are things… some things are unavoidable. Sometimes being strong and being brave means accepting fate, but other times… there’s no such things as miracles, so if the battle is worth it, you’ll have to fight to win. You can go ahead and let the angels use you but first stop lying to yourself.”

Dean breathes a shaky sigh. “You make it sound simple.”

“Simple?” She drops her hand. “Maybe. Easy?” she laughs and shakes her head. “No. Never easy.”

And though Dean’s mind is reeling he’s fairly certain he agrees.

It’s never easy. Ever.

 

  

Her name is Jamie, she goes to private school, and she’s ignorant of the rumors circulating around about Dean’s sexuality. Dean didn’t plan on inviting her to dinner, it just sort of happened.

She’s graceful, brown-eyed, and blond, and when she mentioned liking red meat, Dean impulsively asked if she’d be interested in grabbing a burger with him and a couple of friends later that night. She agreed to meet him at the diner around seven, and Dean didn’t realize how truly awful this idea was until Cas slid into the booth next to her and Sam started giving him the death glare.

If he were smart he would have called the whole thing off right then and there, but evidently he’s an idiot.

Once everyone is seated, Dean puts his arm around Jamie and announces, “Guys, this is Jamie. She’s a senior at St. Mary High.”

“Hello,” Jamie says, giving a tiny wave.

Dean gestures to the other side of the round table. “Jamie, this is my brother, Sammy – ”

“Just Sam’s fine,” Sam says, interrupting because he’s a rude little bitch.

“And next to _Sammy_.” Dean smirks and Jamie giggles. “We have his girlfriend, Jess.”

“Hey,” Jess says, blushing prettily. Dean winks at her, and Sam shoots him another murderous glare, one that promises retribution.

The little shit can bring it because Dean is determined to have fun tonight.

“And, lastly…” it takes Dean real effort to keep his smile from slipping as he points to Castiel. “This is Cas, he’s…uh…”

“He’s Dean’s best friend.” Sam finishes for him.

Dean is tempted to kick Sam under the table but he doesn’t want to risk missing his mark. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” Dean tells Cas.

“I have no desire to be here,” Castiel says impassively. “Sam insisted that I attend, and I agreed so that he would stop talking. I find his voice grating.”

Sam laughs awkwardly and it’s pretty much all downhill from there.

When the waitress comes by Dean puts his fake ID to good use and orders a beer. He doesn’t have to see his brother’s face to know he doesn’t approve, though no one else seems to mind.

Jamie is great. She’s perfect, actually, and just what he’s needed. She laughs at all of his jokes and doesn’t flinch when he puts his hand on her knee under the table. Dean’s a pro-flirt and when he brings out his a-game he could charm the pants off of any woman he wants. His smile makes the waitress stumble over her words, and even Jess has trouble looking him in the eye after he tells her she’s way out of his brother’s league.

Cas refuses to even look in Dean’s direction, so he clearly doesn’t care. It’s a little surprising because Cas is such a goddamned prude and never misses an opportunity to rag on Dean about his healthy libido. But it’s not like Dean’s _trying_ to provoke any kind of reaction from him. He’s just doing whatever he wants, and if it happens to piss Castiel off for whatever reason, that’s just a bonus. He’s an even bigger killjoy then Sammy, so it’s probably inevitable.

The food hasn’t yet arrived, and Dean’s already on his third beer. Everything seems to being going well. Sam is a little on edge, but that’s to be expected. Jess is incredibly sweet and looks at Sam like he’s the only thing that’s Technicolor in a monochrome world. Jamie must be a bleeding heart because she seems to feel bad that Cas has been excluded from almost every conversation.

She turns to him and asks, “So, do you go to school with Dean?”

Castiel nods. “We have identical schedules.”

“That sounds awesome.” Jamie glances at Dean and smiles. “I wish I could have my best friend in all of my classes. They must be a lot of fun.”

“Not particularly,” Castiel says. “They’re quite dull, actually. Our instructors are uninspiring and it’s painful to watch you children fail over and over again without ever learning from your mistakes.”

Dean laughs because he’s pretty buzzed. “Don’t mind Cas,” he tells Jamie. “He only talks that way because he thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

And he does, doesn’t he? Maybe he’s always looked down on Dean for being human. Dean was good enough to be his friend last week, but now that Cas has been back to heaven and got to hang out with his angel bros, suddenly Dean’s an undesirable. He’s never met the celestial standards, and now Cas is finally showing it.

It’s ridiculous because Cas isn’t really even that special. He may be smarter than Dean, but he still doesn’t know anything that actually matters. He doesn’t know a carburetor from a camshaft, and doesn’t understand figurative language. It’s not like he has any friends, either. The kid’s a loser so why does Dean even care?

Because Castiel has a distracting mouth and permanent bedhead, and when Dean looks at them the thoughts he has are _fucking blasphemous_. 

“Dean relies heavily on charm because he is otherwise untalented,” Castiel says. “He’s only passing his classes because he cheats.”

A) not true, and B) what the hell, Cas? At least Dean’s comment wasn’t a lie.

“I rest my case.” Dean says, grinning mischievously as he watches both Jamie and Jess giggle. “And, just so you know…” Dean locks eyes with Jamie. “I’m no honor student, but I’ve been told I give good oral… reports.”

The girls break out into laughter again, and Sammy almost chokes on his drink.

“You’ve made Sam uncomfortable,” Castiel observes. “Perhaps he’s insecure about his own sexual performance.” Castiel then turns to Jess and says, “He’s most likely heard about your sexual history with Brady and is worried because you obviously have more extensive experience.”

Dean doesn’t know where Cas gets off saying shit like that when he insists that he cannot read minds. Dean doesn’t know where Cas gets off saying shit like that in general. What did Sam and Jess ever do to him?

Sam turns bright red and begins to deny having such concerns but no one is listening to him. If Dean had been sober he would have said something to take the heat off of his little brother, but he’s not so he just sits there stupidly and does nothing. He knew the night would end in disaster, but he hoped that it would be _after_ he got his piece of pie.

Jess looks like she’s about to burst into tears. Jamie, who is clearly too good for Dean, reaches out to Jess in sympathy, and the two girls seem to have a “we are both blond and therefore sisters” moment. Jamie quickly excuse herself to use the ladies room and drags Jess with her.

Dean uses the distraction of their hurried departure as an opportunity to sneak a few swigs of whisky from his pocket flask. It’s now very unlikely that he’ll be getting laid tonight. He feels guilty until he remembers that this is all Castiel’s doing, and he’s not responsible for Castiel’s bullshit. Sam’s the one who invited him, so there’s really no reason for Dean to feel like shit for letting his brother down. Castiel deserves to take the heat for this one.

“Do you still feel all high and mighty, Cas?” Dean asks, shifting and moving closer to him so their knees touch and they’re sitting with their faces only centimeters apart. “That poor girl is in the bathroom crying because of what you said.”

“If she’s ashamed of her behavior she has only herself to blame,” Castiel says stiffly.

“Is that what your ‘superiors’ told you?” Dean unconsciously leans in and puts a hand on Castiel’s thigh. “Is fucking a sin?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Sam hisses.

“You suck at this,” Dean says, ignoring his brother. “You suck at being human. And you know you're only here because you were the convenient choice. Jimmy died so you had a vessel, and I bet they rather have you screwing up shit down here then upstairs where it counts.”

“Your drunk, Dean,” Castiel says flatly. “You need to lower your voice. People are staring.”

Has Cas always been a shameless hypocrite? How has Dean managed to put up with this goddamn superiority act for so long? It must be a side effect of all the angel mojo exposure. Cas has been manipulating him from the start, hasn’t he?

Dean is dizzy with anger now. His hand is on Castiel’s femoral artery and can feel a pulse pounding hot and frenzied under his fingers.

Dean wants to do bad things to Castiel. He wants to do very bad things to Castiel.

“Maybe they’re staring at you. I heard how you humiliated yourself in English. People are still laughing about it. Did you run home crying to Urinal and Bulbasuar?”

Sam is suddenly by his side and yanking him out of the booth by the arm. “Goddammit, Dean. He’s right. You’re wasted. I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

“You knew he would sabotage your happiness,” Castiel says, probably to Sam. “Your codependency is unhealthy.”

“Just stop talking and take him outside,” Sam says, probably to Cas. “Both of you need to leave before Jess comes back.”

And maybe he really is drunk because the next thing he knows is the alleyway behind the diner. And stupid Cas is standing next to him in his stupid trench coat looking stupid and unconcerned.

The night is dark and moonless, but the alley is floodlit so if his vision starts to blur it’s because he’s sneaking another sip of foul tasting whiskey while Cas has his back turned. Dean was feeling queasy in the restaurant and, while the fresh air provides some relief, outside he’s feeling even more claustrophobic. The space between the buildings is too narrow and he feels like he’s trapped in a brick cage with Castiel and Castiel’s empty stare.

“I hate you,” Dean tells him, and it feels a little true. “I hate you and I wish I’d never met you.”

“Is it me you hate, Dean?” Castiel asks. “Or is it yourself?”

“I hate feeling this way,” Dean says, continuing as if he hadn’t heard him. “I hate having all of this guilt. Why should I feel guilty if our friendship was a sham?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel says, sounding bored, the fucker sounds _bored._ “And I don’t care. Your feelings are not important to me.”

Dean growls. “You think that’s a good thing?” He shakes his head, which was a very bad idea because now his world is spinning. “I’ve never –” Jesus Christ that whisky was a mistake. “I… I worried about you. You're my best friend. That really means nothing to you?”

“I value your trust."

“But that's only because it makes it easier for you to manipulate me!” Dean shouts. “I’m not stupid, Cas. I know you think I’m stupid but I’m not. You dicks are fucking with my head because you know it’s the only way I’ll agree to go along with your rotten plans.”

Castiel sighs. “You’re just being dramatic now.”

“Am I?” Dean asks. “Saving lives is the family business, remember? I don't need an angel on my shoulder to be my moral compass. I always do what's right, and you've know that about me from the statrt. So I’m willing to bet that all this angelic intervention is because you need to convince me to do something we both know is wrong.”

“As I’ve said before,” Castiel says slowly, as if talking to a child. “I don’t know the details of the plan but I trust that it is righteous.”

“Bullshit.” Dean needs to stop talking but his mouth won’t listen. “If it’s so righteous then why is it such a big secret? Wake up, Cas. You’re being duped. It’s either that or God’s a sneaky conniving bitch like the rest of you feathered freaks!”

Castiel’s expression darkens. “Watch your tongue.”

Dean laughs shortly. “Isn’t that your job, Cas?” he asks. “Watching my tongue. Watching me sleep. Staring at me. Following me.”

“Do you think I find this gratifying?” Castiel sneers. “When I look at you do you know what I see? You’re weak, Dean, and you’re needy. You will cling to anything or anyone who shows you approval or affection. You worship a man who puts you second, who cares more about the dead than he does about you. It’s pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, seething.

“You fear abandonment, which is why it was so easy to gain your trust, and why your relationships never last.”

Dean clenches his fists. “I’m warning you.” He’s shaking (why is he shaking?) “If you don’t shut your mouth I’m going to destroy you.”

“And then there’s your brother,” Castiel says. “Your _Sammy_.”

“One more word, and I swear…”

“ _You’re_ going to lecture _me_ about denial?” Castiel shakes his head. “No matter what you do your brother is always going to push you away. Sooner or later you’re going to have to accept that there’s no place for you in his dreams. He’s going to leave this life and go to college and he’s not going to look back. You’ve spent the past fourteen years of your life devoted to him and he’s going to throw all of that away. Did you really think he’d settle for being a hunter?” Castiel shows him a look of pity. “He just wants – ”

This is Dean’s breaking point. He’s so fucking angry and there’s a lump in his throat and all he wants is for Castiel to stop talking. He just can't handle this right now.

So whatever it is that Sam wants according to this rat bastard angel will forever remain a mystery. Drunk Dean, a wise man of sound judgment, seems to think that it’s time for this fight to escalate to physical violence. Never mind the fact that Castiel is an angel with superhuman strength. Maybe Dean's in the mood for a little pain.

Of course punching Castiel in the face leaves his entire hand and arm throbbing, while Cas doesn’t even flinch. He smirks. Like this is amusing to him. Like this is all just a game. Like he’s enjoying watching Dean fall apart.

“I hate you,” Dean says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth.

Castiel’s first blow hits Dean in the stomach, and while he’s bowled over clutching his gut Cas’s fist connects with Dean’s jaw, the force almost knocking him off his feet.

This is not Dean’s first time going toe to toe with a supernatural creature. This isn’t even his first time doing it drunk. But this fight with Cas is different. Dean’s anger is raw and he burns every time Cas touches him. There’s something dark and primal trying to claw its way out from inside of him, because even when he can land a kick or a punch there’s no pain registering on Cas’s face. It’s frustrating and unfair and unsatisfying and it makes Dean feel like he’s too hot for his skin.

More than anything Dean just wants to tear Cas apart. He’s hungry for it. His hands are itching. He just wants to tangle his fingers up in Cas’s hair, sink his teeth into his skin, and rip him to shreds. It would be so human and so perfect, and Cas is destroying him. Cas is killing him.

It would be a fitting death. Dean’s drowning in Cas. Everything is suddenly Cas. His sheets and his pillows smell like Cas. Every person he talks to he compares to Cas. Every place he goes reminds him of Cas. Castiel wormed his way into Dean’s life and now he’s everywhere. Dean can’t go five minutes without thinking about Cas. All he wants is his life back. He’ll do anything to get his life back because the alternative is driving him insane.

When Dean sees his next opening, instead of going in for the punch, he grabs Castiel by the shoulders and slams him into the wall.

Castiel makes a harsh gasping noise like all the air is being forced out of his lungs. Dean moves in pressing the entire length of his body against Cas, keeping him trapped, pinning him to the cold bricks.

The alleyway is silent, save for the sound of labored breaths. It’s winter but Dean feels like he’s on fire.

Maybe it’s because he can feel Castiel’s breath hot on his face, or maybe it’s because Castiel’s glare is smoldering.

It’s both terrifying and exhilarating because Cas’s anger is supposed to be cold. He’s supposed to be all blue eyes and icy stares. They keep telling him that angels aren’t supposed to have emotions, but that’s one lie he can’t make himself believe.

Castiel smells so good and familiar and Dean has the ridiculous urge to put his lips on Castiel’s neck and let his tongue taste his skin. Fuck, and his body is so warm, and it’s a soothing warmth that makes Dean want to slip his hands beneath the fabric of Cas’s clothes and greedily take whatever Cas is willing to give him.

“Dean…” Castiel whispers, low and rough.

Dean doesn’t know what’s more disturbing, that the sound of Cas’s voice makes him instinctively roll his hips, or the fact that he’s hard. They’re both hard, and Castiel won’t stop staring at his lips.

Maybe Cas can stay cool in an argument and maybe he can win a fist fight without flinching, breaking a nail or breaking a sweat, but he’s not as invulnerable as his thinks he is. Dean knows one way to gain the upperhand and turn Cas’s world upside down.

Castiel does not kiss him back. Their mouths are joined for no more than a few seconds before Cas forcefully pushes him away. It’s mission fucking accomplished too, because finally Dean sees hurt in Castiel’s eyes and horror on his face. But it was a bad kiss, his worst ever, probably. Dean’s too numb and stupid from the alcohol. He won’t remember the taste or feel of Cas’s lips, but he’ll remember what happens next.

Dean hears his nose break before he feeling the pain Castiel’s fist striking his face.

And then there’s nothing.

 

 

Castiel is gone for good this time. On Monday Dean doesn’t even bother keeping an eye out for that tan trench coat. The moment he woke up alone in that alley was the moment he knew it was all over. The concern for Dean's physically safety was probably secondary to the angel's efforts to worm their way inside his head. Cas blew it big time in the alley and lost his position of influence in Dean's life. If Cas can't help the angels... groom Dean, then it's highly unlikely that they'll be sending him back to earth any time soon. Dean's not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, Cas is spiteful and conniving son of a bitch, but on the other hand... he's _Cas_...

Dean doesn’t want to want Cas, but he does. Acknowledging the attraction was supposed to make it easier to overcome. Admission is the first step towards recovery, right? But Dean doesn’t want to recover. He wants to wallow and obsess, and now that he’s no longer in denial his thoughts are uninhibited. His classmates are all convinced that he’s sleeping with Cas, so he has every right to fantasize.  Dean doesn’t have to feel guilty about his desire either. He’s stopped caring about whether or not Cas would be offended by the very explicit, very graphic nature of his daydreams. Cas walked out. He proved he doesn't care, so why should Dean?

But that doesn’t stop him from driving himself crazy wondering if the feeling is mutual. Though highly improbable, it is possible that Cas likes him too. If Dean couldn’t recognize the signs of his own burgeoning attraction, it’s likely that he would be just as blind to Castiel’s desire. The problem is that Cas is Cas, and there’s no way to tell if suspect behavior is evidence of attraction, or just Cas being Cas. 

Deep down Dean knows he shouldn’t even be considering it. Castiel is an angel. What would an angel want with a lowly hunter? It’s never going to happen.

Maybe it would be best if Castiel just staid gone. Maybe Dean’s a fucking moron.

This can’t be healthy.

 

 

An entire week passes before Sam starts speaking to him again. Dean’s doing work on an engine in the garage when Sam pops in for some light-hearted conversation.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s something seriously wrong with you,” Sam announces.

Dean sighs wearily. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Bobby and I are worried about you,” Sam says.

“Worried?” Dean repeats.

Sam nods. “You’ve haven’t been yourself lately.

“I’m fine, Sam,” Dean assures him. “Grab that wrench for me, would you?”

“No you’re not,” Sam says, handing Dean the wrench. “At first I thought it was because of the diner, but you were acting strangely even before that night.”

“Look,” Dean says, ducking under the hood of the junker and busying himself with what’s left of the engine. “I appreciate the concern, and I’m glad that you’re talking to me again, but, honestly, I’m fine.”

“You look like hell,” Sam tells him flatly.

“I’m not a big fan of winter.” Dean shrugs. “I guess I’m not getting enough vitamin D.”

“So this isn’t about Cas?”

Dean lifts his head out from under the hood. “Who said anything about Cas?” he asks. “And can you toss me that rag?” he says, pointing at the cluttered workmen’s bench to the left of Sam.

“Don’t play dumb.” Sam tosses Dean the rag and lock eyes with him. “I know there’s something up with him too. I’m not blind.”

“Well,” Dean says, wiping the motor oil off of his hands with the rag. “Cas isn’t here, so that’s irrelevant.”

“How does that make it irrelevant?” Sam asks. “Can’t you just be honest for once?” he whines. “I’m not going to judge you. I swear.”

“It’s complicated,” Dean mutters before retreating to back underneath the hood.

“Do you not trust me?” Sam’s voice is slightly muffled but Dean can still hear the hurt in his tone. “I feel like ever since we moved here we’ve been drifting apart…”

As if Dean weren’t feeling crappy enough.

“Sammy…”

“Where’s Castiel, Dean?”

“If I had to say…” Dean backs away from the car and tilts his head to look upwards. “My best guess would be heaven.”

Sam goes very still. “You didn’t…” he whispers.

Dean frowns, confused and asks, “Didn’t what?” And then it dawns on him. “You don’t think I – ” Dean barks laughter. “Come _on,_ Sammy, you don’t honestly think I would _kill_ him, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sputters. “What else could you possible mean by –” he pauses for a moment and his eyes widen. “ _Oh,”_ He breathes.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “ _Yeah_.”

“Castiel is an _angel_?”

Dean smiles bitterly. “Oh he’s an angel, all right.”

“A real angel?” Sam asks.

“A real angel,” Dean sighs. “Complete with a mean left hook, and that irresistible, holier than thou attitude.”

“You mean to tell me that you’ve spent the last two and a half months hanging out with a real live angel and never told me?” Sam’s expression changes from awe to outrage in less then a second. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands. “Were you ever going to tell me? What was he doing here? Why did he leave? When is he coming back? Will you introduce me?”

Dean rubs his face with his hands and groans. “First off, you’ve already met Cas. And we didn’t tell you because we weren’t allowed. It’s kind of dangerous knowledge and we didn’t want you getting hurt.”

Sam gives him a dubious look but doesn’t push. “What was he doing here that was so dangerous?”

Dean falters slightly. He’s not sure he wants Sam to know the whole truth. “Cas…” Dean lets his voice trail off and wracks his brain for a decent lie “Cas was here doing research,” (Nice one!) “Just learning about humanity and stuff, nothing special.”

“Like E.T?” Sam offers.

Dean nods eagerly. “And, see, lately there’s been a lot of tension between heaven and hell, so the demons would love to get their hands on an angel to like torture it for information and stuff. Cas is one of the few angels who’s visited earth since like Jesus or whatever so there’s a giant target on his back and he needs to be really careful.”

Shit, and Sam is hanging on Dean’s every word. He shouldn’t feel guilty because it’s fairly close to the truth. Dean knows that Sam can be trusted, but he can’t say for sure whether or not the truth really is too dangerous to share, and he’s not willing to risk it. But more than anything Dean’s just isn’t ready to talk about it.

“I knew there was something weird about him!” Sam says gleefully.

Dean rolls his eyes, though he’s relieved that Sam finds these answers acceptable. “Congrats, Sammy,” he says. “We good now? Are you happy?”

“We’re good.” Sam laughs. “This is something I can tell my grandchildren!”

“What, that your big brother was friends with an angel?” Dean’s amused despite himself.

“No, that in high school I went on a double date with my brother and an angel and the angel made my girlfriend cry.”

Dean’s not sure he heard Sam right. “Cas wasn’t my date, Jamie was, remember? Cas was our fifth wheel.”

“I know, I know,” Sam says, waving it off. “It was a mistake inviting him, clearly. I just thought…” Sam hesitates. “The whole Cas being an angel thing isn’t really what I expected you to be hiding.”

Sam better not be implying what Sam is most certainly implying.

Dean swore to himself that no matter what he wouldn’t go there, but now he kind of wants to go there. He’s just so damn curious. There’s so much he doesn’t understand about how this all happened. What would make Sam, Sam who knows probably a little too much about Dean’s fondness for women, think that Dean was involved with another boy?

“Oh.” Dean swallows. “What were you expecting?”

Sam actually looks a little sheepish. “I thought he was like… you know…”

“No,” Dean says carefully. “I don’t know. What did you think I was hiding?”

“I thought that Castiel was your secret boyfriend.”

Dean makes a concerted effort to keep his features perfectly schooled and tone casual. “Cas and I were just friends.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Were?”

“He left,” Dean says with a shrug. “So we’re no longer friends.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Sam asks, and Dean must sound off, because there’s concern in Sam’s tone.

“Peachy.”

There isn’t much in life that Dean wouldn’t do for Sam, but, despite his curiosity, there’s no freaking way he’s going to have troubles talk about Cas, especially when all Dean wants is to forget that the guy even exists.

“Dean, please,” Sam flashes him the puppy eyes. “Don’t… don’t be like dad.”

And yet Dean feels himself caving. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just… tell me what happened.”

And because he’s a giant coward Dean stoops under the hood again and starts messing with the engine.

He doesn’t even know where to start until finally he says, “We fought and… Cas isn’t who I thought he was. He said some things, I said some things, he said some things… I did something, and then he left. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Sam is quiet for a long moment and Dean does his best to look like he’s doing something productive and not just fiddling with parts.

“You kissed him, didn’t you?” Sam asks quietly.

Dean almost bumps his head trying to shrug his shoulders. “Sort of,” he confesses.

“So he is your secret boyfriend then,” Sam says, and it’s not a question it’s a statement.

“No!” Dean says sharply, turning to face Sam. “Why is everyone so eager to call us a couple?”

“Do you… do you have any idea…?” Sam shakes his head. “If only you could have seen yourself when you were with him.”

Dean heaves a frustrated sigh. “Just because we stand close together doesn’t mean we’re a couple!”

“It’s not just that,” Sam tells him. “I mean, that’s part of it, but… it’s mostly… the way you smile when you’re with him. I’ve never seen you smile like that. You just look – when you’re with Castiel you look _happy_. ” He gives Dean a significant look. “And, you know, we established early on that Castiel has a thing for you, so if you didn’t want to encourage him and give other people ideas you should have probably toned down the flirting.”

“Flirting?” Dean echoes in disbelief. “What are you talking about? I don’t flirt with Cas.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on, Dean. If he had pigtails you’d be pulling them. What were you thinking inviting a girl out with us that night?”

“Cas told me he wasn’t coming,” Dean says. “You know we’ve been fighting.”

“I thought you were lying to get out of bringing him!” Sam counters. “If I had known you were serious I would have backed off. But you don’t talk to me anymore and… I thought… I thought that you just weren’t ready to come out yet.”

“Come out?” Dean says. “I’m not gay.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” Sam says.

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Dean half-shouts. “I’m not an asshole. If I were gay I wouldn’t be ashamed or try to hide it, but I’m not gay.”

“But you like Cas,” Sam says slowly. “Isn’t Cas a boy?”

“A boy?” Dean laughs shortly. “He’s not even human. Words like gay and straight – they don't really cut it.”

“Then what are you?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “As far as I know, there’s no term for being exclusively attracted to women and angels.” He smiles. “But you’re the bookworm, so let me know if you come across one.”

“I’ll keep you on speed dial,” Sam says, because sometimes the kid is all sass. “What happened after…?”

“He broke my nose,” Dean says sourly. “Then healed it, I guess, after I passed out.”

“Ouch.”

Dean sighs. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever been rejected.”

Sam looks distinctly unimpressed. “I wouldn’t read too much into it,” he says, very matter of factly. “Castiel was probably pissed about Jamie. I think you really hurt his feelings.”

“Cas doesn’t have feelings.”

“Seriously, Dean? He couldn’t even look at you. And what he said about sex making me uncomfortable – Jess thinks he was really talking about himself. Every other word out of your mouth was something sexual and then he had to watch you make googly eyes with every girl in the room.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Dean says. “I wasn’t that bad.”

Sam puts on his ‘ _are you fucking kidding me?’_ face and says, “You’re right. You were worse!”

“What?” Dean asks. “How?” He doesn’t remember doing anything truly offensive.

“I was sitting right there when you started arguing with Castiel.” Sam reminds him. “You looked like you were ready to tear each other's close off and then do something equally horrifying on the table.” Sam shudders. “I felt so unclean. It was traumatizing.”

“Shut up,” Dean says, turning red. Okay, so not every thought that passed through his head that night was family friendly, but “Cas isn’t like that.”

Sam makes the face again and this time says, “You could have fooled me.”

Dean’s tempted to ask him to elaborate but that is the opposite of what he needs right now. “I’m serious, Sammy,” Dean says. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Sam stares. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Ugh!” Dean groans. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Why couldn’t you have just been honest about your feelings? What were you thinking?”

“He’s not human, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s a vamp or something,” Sam reasons. “He’s an angel!”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Let me tell you something about angels,” he says evenly. “They’re dicks. I’m glad Cas is gone.”

“You don’t really mean that,” Sam says.

“I do,” Dean insists. “We’re better off without him.”

Sam sighs. “Dean…”

But Dean’s done. He already shared more than he was prepared to ever share, and now he’s done. “Can we talk about something else?” He asks Sam, greatly disturbed by how much emotion is evident in his tone. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

And Sammy, the lovable little shit, decides to show mercy and change the subject. “Did Uncle Bobby tell you about what we saw at the dog park yesterday?”

Dean rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I’m sorry can you repeat that? Did you just say dog park?”

So Sam starts in on the long explanation for why he and Uncle Bobby were at a dog park. Dean can’t help smiling because, while the story is completely ridiculous, for the first time since Cas left does Dean not feel so empty or so alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments. You are all so lovely. Also, yeah, unbeta'd.


	5. February, March & April part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe my limbs are made  
> mostly for decoration,  
> like the way I feel about  
> persimmons. You can’t  
> really eat them. Or you  
> wouldn’t want to. If you grab  
> the soft skin with your fist  
> it somehow feels funny,  
> like you’ve been here  
> before and uncomfortable,  
> too, like you’d rather  
> squish it between your teeth  
> impatiently, before spitting  
> the soft parts back up  
> to linger on the tongue like  
> burnt sugar or guilt.  
> For starters, it was all  
> an accident, you cut  
> the right branch  
> and a sort of light  
> woke up underneath,  
> and the inedible fruit  
> grew dark and needy.  
> Think crucial hanging.  
> Think crayon orange.  
> There is one low, leaning  
> heart-shaped globe left  
> and dearest, can you  
> tell, I am trying  
> to love you less.  
> (Crush, by Ada Limón)

The weeks pass by slowly. Dean’s anger lingers as does his confusion, but that’s not why he’s miserable. That’s not what’s bringing him down.

He misses Cas.

Castiel was the first real friend Dean ever had. When Cas left Dean lost the only person who he felt ever really understood him. Castiel was Dean’s confidant. He was Dean’s moral support. Dean always felt comfortable speaking his mind and never felt the need to put up a front. He was never forced to lie about the family business. He never had to hide his connection to the supernatural world. He didn’t have to keep everything bottled up. He didn’t have to be alone.

So Dean dropped his guard. He let himself get used to having Cas around – worse, he let himself enjoy Castiel’s company. Now that Cas is gone…

Dean’s _lonely_.

Castiel’s absence is an abandonment and betrayal, but mostly it’s an absence. Dean can’t ignore the void and he can’t deny how empty he feels with Cas gone. The emptiness seems to physically manifest as a dull ache in his bones that flares up whenever something reminds him of Cas, and it’s just not fair.

Dean screwed up, and he knows it’s his fault, but he doesn’t deserve to feel this crappy. He hates what he’s turning into.

Winchester men don’t mope. They’re not perpetually tired. They don’t spend the majority of their afternoons, evenings, and weekends lying in bed. They don’t miss meals, and they never, _ever_ say no to a bacon cheeseburger or a slice of pie.

John would be so ashamed of Dean if he knew how pathetic he had become. Sam keeps giving him these pitying looks, but Dean doesn’t have the energy to snap at him. The kid's actually making an effort to console him. A few months ago Dean would have been thrilled to hear Sam express interest in learning more about what his baby has going on under her hood, but lately not even the Impala has the power to lift Dean’s spirits.

School is pretty awful without Cas but not completely unbearable. Dean attends all of his classes because skipping them by himself makes him feel even lonelier. The semester ends shortly after Cas leaves, and with a new semester comes a new schedule. His classes change, which means he has different teachers now and is surrounded by unfamiliar faces. To be honest, it’s kind of a relief.

Some of the other students seem nice enough. Dean’s lab partner, Viktor, is pretty cool. Dean flirts with Andrea, the teen mom who sits behind him in English class, but it’s mostly harmless. He goes out on a single date with Ellie from homeroom. She’s one of the hottest girls in school and she all but propositions him in the car as he’s taking her home.

Dean turns her down.

This, of course, feeds the rumors about his sexuality but he can’t bring himself to care. There’s just no point. The fact is that he’s hung up on a dude.

 

 

“She’s doing fine, sir,” Dean tells John. “Washed her just yesterday.”

“And your brother?”

“I think he washes himself.”

“ _Dean_ …” John says warningly.

“Sam’s great, Dad,” Dean sighs. “He’s acing all of his classes and he’s dating a blond.”

“You’re looking out for him?”

“Of course.” Dean rolls his eyes, something that he’d never do to his dad’s face. “So, how’s the hunt coming along?”

“Don’t worry about that,” John says, and Dean can tell by his tone that he’s pissed at Dean for even asking. “You just make sure your brother stays out of trouble,” John orders.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies wearily. He gave up trying to hide the sound of defeat in his voice years ago when he finally realized that John wasn't listening.

“Good. I’m counting on you, Dean.”

“I know, sir.” Dean says, adding, “I won’t let you down.”

“Is Bobby home?”

 

 

Dean’s dreaming. He’s lying on his stomach (maybe even drooling a bit on his pillow) and he’s fast asleep.

Someone is trying to get his attention. Someone is shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. Dean rolls over onto his back and sighs. He doesn’t hear or feel anything else, and given that he’s mostly asleep, it’s very likely that he imagined the visitor.

But then, just as he’s about to fully lose consciousness, he feels a gentle hand on his forehead, pushing his bangs back and stroking his hair. Dean doesn’t know a single person who would do something that creepy and weird so he’s pretty confident now that this is all a dream. He allows himself to drift off and just a few moments later he’s fast asleep.

Hours later, or what feels like hours later the first dream is a hazy memory.

His second dream is more vivid. This time, the visitor is shaking his entire arm and whispering his name. It’s pretty freakin' annoying and Dean would like for it to stop.

“What do you want?” he grumbles irritably.

“Hello, Dean,” a familiar voice murmurs against his ear.

Dean’s stomach drops and heart stops because Jesus _fucking_ Christ it sounds exactly like Cas.

“Please, God, no,” Dean whines. “Not this dream again. Any dream but this one.”

“I’m not God, Dean,” the voice tells him. “I’m Castiel.” He shakes Dean’s arm more forcefully and says, “I would greatly appreciate it if you woke up now. You’re not dreaming.”

Dean opens his eyes but his vision is bleary and he’s still disoriented. “Then what…” Dean lets his voice trail off. He can’t breathe (much less speak) because Castiel’s face is right there hovering just above his. If Dean were to tilt his head and Castiel leaned in just a bit their lips would be touching. All Dean can think about is how badly he wants to kill him, or at the very least cause him a significant amount of pain. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?” he demands, stifling the urge to roar.

“We need to talk,” Castiel says, like it’s completely normal for him to be in Dean’s room and – fuck, _fuck_ just fuck this shit. This is not happening.

Dean feels his blood beginning to boil and anger spreading hot to his hands and feet. “This is joke, right?” he asks, giving Castiel a chance to realize that his presence is unwelcomed and high tail it home to heaven before it gets ugly. “This can’t be real."

Castiel blinks. “I assure you that I am quite serious,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important."

The truly fucked up part is that Castiel has already made it _plenty_ clear that he doesn’t like Dean and doesn’t want him in his life. He doesn’t have to come right out and say it like that.

“Yeah?” Dean’s shaking, practically convulsing with anger. “Well fuck you too, Cas,” he spits. “I don’t care if you’re serious, and I don’t care if you say it’s important. If you’re not gone in the next twelve seconds, I’m going to rip your lungs out.”

Despite Dean’s impassioned threat, Castiel seems unperturbed. “I realize my timing is less than ideal, and apologize for the inconvenience but – ”

“Stop,” Dean says, cutting him off. “Just stop talking. I’m not listening and I don’t care.”

“Please,” Castiel says. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

He’s tugging on the ends of his overcoat belt, a nervous habit that Dean used to secretly find kind of cute. Now Dean just wants to take the belt and strangle him with it.

Dean knows he’ll regret asking, but he does so anyway. “What do you want?”

“I need your help,” Castiel says, like he actually believes he has the right to ask for it.

“With what?” Dean asks. “What could _you_ possibly need _my_ help with?”

Castiel opens and closes his mouth two or three times before he finally settles on, “I’ll explain while you pack.”

Dean shakes his head because he can’t even believe what he’s hearing. “That’s not happening.”

“The sooner we leave the better.”

“There’s no way I’m going _anywhere_ with you,” Dean says coldly.

He doesn’t know where the hell Castiel gets off showing up in the middle of the night and pulling this shit. This is an act of depravity. Dean deserves better.

“Your presence here is putting Sam and Bobby in danger,” Castiel says.

“Like hell it is!” Dean growls. It’s a cheap tactic, bringing his family into the mix, but effective nonetheless. “What’s going on?”

“Dean, please, it’s complicated. I don't have time to explain everything right now.” And then he gives Dean these enormous, tragic, clear blue puppy eyes that would put Sammy to shame.

Dean feels the overwhelming need to vomit and takes a deep breath to steady himself. Castiel is staring at him expectantly, his gaze like a rash on Dean’s skin. “Either start talking or get out.”

“I rebelled and I’m…” Castiel takes a shaky breath. “I'm being hunted. Unfortunately, your association with me has made you a target too, which is why, if you want to keep your brother safe, we have to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this straight. _You_ pissed heaven off and now _I’m_ getting shit for it?” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “What the hell, man?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says.

“You’re _sorry_?” Dean echoes, staring up at Cas in disbelief. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“Yes, I am aware of the definition,” Castiel says. “And I understand why my apology might seem hollow.”

“You’re asking me to leave Sam!” Dean can’t believe this conversation is even happening. “You’re asking me to abandon my brother!”

“I know,” Castiel says. “And under any other circumstances I wouldn’t dream of asking this of you, but I need your help.” Castiel tilts his head and gives Dean the eyes again. “I can’t do this alone and you’re the only one who will help me.”

Dean’s horrified because he can feel himself caving. “Can’t you just like… tell heaven you’ve changed your mind?”

“But I haven’t,” Castiel say, sounding stricken by the mere suggestion.

“Maybe you should think it over again.”

At this Castiel actually seems annoyed. “I’ve been agonizing over this decision for weeks now. I will not change my mind.”

Dean heaves a frustrated sigh. “What’s so important that you’re willing to put an innocent kid like Sammy in danger?”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck and looks away, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “It’s not really – ”

“Goddammit, Cas!”

“The apocalypse,” Castiel blurts out. “I’m trying to prevent the apocalypse.”

For a moment Dean is speechless because what the hell is he supposed to say to that? “The apocalypse as in Armageddon?” he asks carefully. “As in the end of the world?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods. “That would be the apocalypse I am referring to.”

“So…” Dean is struggling hard not to shout. “You’re telling me the world is about to end?”

Castiel avoids Dean’s eyes again and shrugs. “It’s… complicated.”

“This is not a difficult question, Cas,” Dean tells him. “Is the world ending or not?”

“If… if heaven gets their way, yes,” Castiel says, answering reluctantly. “This has been in the works for a while and if all goes to plan… judgment day will be upon us in just a few years time.”

“How long have you known about this?” 

Castiel crosses his arms. “That information is irrelevant.”

_"How long?"_  If Dean doesn’t get a straight answer soon his head is going to explode.

“I didn’t have all of the details before.”

“Seriously, Cas?” Dean’s going to kill him. “This whole time?”

“Dean, yell at me all you want later, but right now we need to get moving.”

“I never said I was going with you!”

“I’m going to add some more warding sigils to the house,” Castiel announces. “Pack you bag and meet me outside." 

"Warding sigils?" Dean asks, unable to contain his curiosity. "What exactly are you warding against?"

"I'll explain later," Castiel promises before disappearing/

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean hisses. “I never said I’d help!"

But Dean didn’t have to, because apparently family isn’t the only thing that makes him feel weak.

 

 

“Okay.” Dean glances at Castiel in the passenger seat beside him and asks, “So the plan is to first find this Anna chick?

“Correct,” Castiel says. “After we restore her grace we will recruit her for our cause.”

“And then we have to get a hold of this special gun?”

“Samuel Colt’s gun,” Castiel says. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to locate.”

“Okay, then you want me to talk to my dad to find out where this Az… whatever guy is?”

“Azazel,” Castiel supplies. “His name is Azazel and your Dad’s been tracking him for years. He’s the demon who murdered your mother.”

Dean breathes a shaky sigh. “Right, yellow-eyes,” he says. “All we have to do is shoot this demon with the gun and then _boom_ no apocalypse?”

Castiel nods his head affirmatively. “Hopefully.”

Oh god, they are so screwed. The world is going to end it’s totally going to be their fault.

“Do you have a plan B?” Dean asks.

Castiel furrows his brow. “A what?”

“A backup plan,” Dean explains, trying hard not to lose his patience. “Do you have something else planned in the event that this one doesn’t work?”

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly. “No, I have no backup plan.”

“Of course not,” Dean mutters under his breath.

Five hours pass by before either of them speaks again.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Castiel announces, pointing at the upcoming highway exit.

Dean snorts. “You’re joking, right? It’s not even close to midnight.”

“You’re human,” Castiel tells him. “You need sleep.”

“I only need about four hours,” Dean says. “And I don’t want to start driving again before sunrise. We’ll stop when we reach the state line.”

“You need nine and a quarter hours of sleep,” Castiel says firmly. “We’ll stop now.”

Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel and gives Castiel a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he insists. “I’m not tired.”

Twenty minutes later Dean is passed out on a motel room bed, and Castiel is painting sigils on the windows with his own blood.

But Dean doesn’t stay asleep for very long. He wakes maybe four, maybe five, maybe six or seven hours later and it’s still dark outside. He’s gotten used to his bed at Bobby’s, and now motel mattresses and motel pillows are too lumpy, and he’d forgotten how much he hates that musty smell.

Castiel is sitting cross-legged on the adjacent bed reading– of course – the bible. His shoes are still on the floor, and his coat and jacket are folded neatly in a pile at the end of the bed. It makes Dean, in his boxers and undershirt, feel overdressed, yet it’s the least amount of clothing he’s ever seen Castiel wear. Dean can’t keep his eyes off of him.

“You’re naked, Cas,” Dean says, his voice rough and sleepy. “What’s up with that?”

Castiel glances over at Dean and lets their eyes meet for less than a second before turning his attention back to the bible. “I’m practicing,” he says.

Dean sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. He refuses to put up with the book bullshit again. Cas isn’t even reading now. The guy’s just staring at the page. If he doesn’t want to talk to Dean he should at least be upfront about it. Dean’s not exactly thrilled to be alone with him, nor is he eager to start a conversation.

“Whatever.” Dean rolls out of bed and stretches “I’m going to shower and then we can hit the road again. Sound good?”

“No,” Castiel says, speaking into the book.

“No?” Dean repeats.

“No,” Castiel tells him again, still not looking up. “That does not sound good.”

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean just doesn’t have the patience for this anymore. He shouldn’t have to compete for Castiel’s attention. He stalks over to where Cas is sitting and tries to snatch the bible from his hands.

But Castiel, Dean will grudgingly admit, is much stronger and the book doesn’t budge from his grasp.

“Dean?” Castiel lowers the book and reveals a confused frown that makes Dean feel a little ridiculous. “Do you want to read the bible?”

“No, I want you to look at me when I’m talking to you,” Dean says. “Is that really too much to ask?”

Because, honestly, after everything Cas has put him through the least the guy could do is pay him the courtesy of looking him in the eye when he speaks to him. It’s Cas’s fault their in this mess. It’s Cas’s fault their lives are in danger. Dean doesn’t think their friendship will ever be repaired, and as much as he wishes things could go back to the way they were, he knows it’s impossible.

“My apologies,” Castiel says, not really sounding very sorry.

“Sure thing.” Dean rolls his eyes.

We’re waiting for a delivery,” Castiel explains. “So I expect we’ll need to stay here for another five to ten hours.”

“What kind of delivery?”

“One from heaven,” Castiel says. “If you shower and dress I’ll tell you the details over breakfast. You need sustenance.”

Dean scowls. If Cas thinks he can buy his way back into Dean’s good graces with bacon and flapjacks he’s going to be sorely disappointed. He was gone for two whole months. Sixty-one days of nothing. That’s not the kind of thing you can fix over breakfast.

Even if Dean kinda wishes it were.

 

 

Dean walks out of the bathroom after his shower and finds that Castiel is no longer alone. He and a strange man are sitting at the motel table. Dean doesn’t recognize the man but Castiel seems comfortable in his presence so he’s probably not a demon.

“Dear God, is this him?” the stranger asks, sounding somewhat amused and very British. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

Dean frowns, feeling slightly self-conscious. If it weren’t for the short towel he managed to tie around his hips he’d be stark naked. “Who’s this?” he asks Castiel. “And understand what?”

Castiel just stares at Dean for a moment, his eyes seem to be taking in every inch of bare skin. “You’ve lost weight,” he observes.

“It suits him,” the stranger tells Cas before turning to smirk at Dean. “You are indeed very pretty, Mr. Winchester.”

Castiel gives the stranger a hard look. “ _Stop_.”

“Understand what?” Dean repeats, determined.

“Understand why heaven’s most obedient soldier would suddenly go AWOL.”

“Balthazar…” Castiel warns.

Dean’s eyes widen. “You’re Balthazar.”

“Can’t put anything past you now can we?”

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, turning to Castiel. “Is this the delivery you were talking about? I thought you said it’d be a few hours.”

Balthazar shakes his head. “O ye, of little faith,” he says to Castiel. “I told you it wouldn’t be difficult.”

“Balthazar has brought us Anna’s grace.” Castiel holds up a glowing, blue vial. “He had to steal it from our brother.”

“And a little insurance.” Balthazar reaches into his pocket, pulls out an unremarkable metal key and tosses it to Cas. “For after heaven finds out.”

“Insurance?” Dean hates sounding clueless but he wants answers. “What do we need insurance for?”

“The last angel to disobey and actively work against the will of heaven was Lucifer. Cassy is about to become public enemy number one upstairs. After this is all over they’re going to need a reason not to hunt him down and kill you both. You’ve only gotten this far because no one up there would even consider the possibility that someone down here might be actively thwarting their authority and defying their command.”

“ _Balthazar._ ”

“I just want him to know what you’re risking and how much you’re giving up for him.” He turns to Dean. “You do know what he’s risking and how much he’s giving up, don’t you?”

“That’s enough!” Castiel growls.

“We’re trying to stop the apocalypse.” Dean crosses his arms and straightens up. It’s difficult to look intimidating in his current state. “I think the ends justify the means.”

Balthazar sighs, exasperated, and gives Castiel a very indulgent smile. “I suppose stupidity can be charming in twinks, if you like that sort of thing.”

Dean just doesn’t understand why all angels have to be such huge dicks. Cas’s superiority act is bad enough, Dean doesn’t think he can handle this smarmy asshole too.

“He’s not stupid,” Castiel says.

“He is if he doesn’t realize that you’re only doing this because you’re not keen on the thought of Michael wearing him to Armageddon.”

And Dean’s officially had enough of this crap. “What the _hell_ are you talking about?” he demands. “Did I just hear you say Michael’s going to _wear_ me? What does that even mean?”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard that part yet?” Balthazar asks innocently. “Why else do you think dear Cassy brought you along? He’s keeping you hidden from Michael. He’s protecting you.”

“Cas?” Dean asks lowly, staring hard at Castiel. “What’s he talking about?”

Castiel averts his eyes and says, “You’re Michael’s vessel. That’s why heaven has taken such a sudden interest in your life. Not only was it my job to keep you safe, I was also supposed to prepare you for what’s to come. It was my job to ensure that you’d accept your destiny.”

“Michael needs your consent,” Balthazar adds. “We’re not like demons who can just possess at will.”

Dean runs a frustrated hand through his damp hair and says, “There’s something seriously wrong with all of you.” He then turns to glare at Castiel. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me since… since the day we met!”

“Dean…” Castiel says softly, pleading.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Balthazar asks Dean, eying him incredulously.

“Get what?” He snaps. “What is there to get? Cas was pretending to be my friend just so he could season me to be some angel’s meatsuit!” 

“Cassy… pretending…” Balthazar laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t know why I even bother. This must be what they meant when they said you had low self esteem.”

“I do _not_ have low self esteem!” Dean shouts.

“Brother, please,” Castiel says. “He’s right. I have been deceitful. This is all my fault.”

Balthazar gapes at him. “Your fault? Your _fault?_ Is that why you’re making a martyr out of yourself?”

“ _Please_.”

“Fine.” Balthazar sighs. “You’re as bad as he is.” He glares at both Castiel and Dean. “The two of you deserve each other.”

And with that, Balthazar is gone. Dean can’t say he’s sorry to see him go. What he wouldn’t give to go back to the days when he didn’t even know angels existed. This shit is wearing him down.

“Dean…” Castiel tries again.

“Just…” Dean sighs. “Just go wait in the car. I’ll be out in a few minutes”

And Castiel nods and obeys and Dean kind of just wants to curl up in a ball and die.

 

 

They make it to the rendezvous point with time to spare, and it’s a little bit awful. If they were still on the move or stuck in traffic at least he’d get to kill the awkward silence with some tunes. Being trapped in the car with Castiel is a thousand times worse when it’s quiet. The sound of rain pelting against the roof of the Impala does nothing to soothe him. It only serves as a reminder that leaving the car would just be trading one hell for another.

“She likes you,” Castiel says, eventually breaking the silence.

“Who?” Dean asks. “Anna?”

“Yes.”

Dean shrugs. “I kind of figured,” he says. “But I’m surprised you picked up on it.”

Castiel frowns. “She told me.”

“Did you ask?”

“No.” His frown deepens. “She volunteered the information.”

“Why would she do that?” Dean asks. And more importantly, why is Castiel bringing it up?

“She thought it was only fair that she was honest about her feelings before…” Castiel’s voice trails off and he looks away.

“Before what?”

“Well,” Castiel says, staring hard out the window. “She inquired about the nature of our relationship and my feelings towards you.”

Dean’s heart skips a beat. “Oh,” he says. “What did you tell her?”

“I suggested that she not concern herself with such matters.” Castiel looks hesitantly back up at Dean’s face. “I didn’t think you would be comfortable with me discussing it.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, because it’s clear that Cas is looking for a sign of approval and he’s feeling generous.

“I wasn’t sure what to say,” Castiel confesses. “Even if I had been willing to talk about it I wouldn’t have had an answer for her.”

Subtle, Cas, real subtle.

Dean sighs, slightly annoyed. “You’ve been gone for two months. That’s what happens to relationships when one person literally disappears off the face of the planet for two months.”

“You kissed me, Dean,” Castiel says, almost accusingly. “Do you remember kissing me?”

“I remember you beating the crap out of me,” Dean says, deflecting.

He doesn’t like thinking about the fight, but for a while he hadn’t been able to think of much else. There had been nothing he could do to stop himself from replaying the night over and over again in his head. What’s worse is that he can’t even be sure the details of his memory are accurate. He has no way of knowing if what he remembers is fact or fiction. The whole episode could have been a fantasy.

“That was uncouth of me, yes,” Castiel says. “But you hit me first, and I healed you, didn’t I?”

“Whatever, man,” Dean says. He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. Hopefully Castiel will take the hint and leave him alone.

But Cas never could take a hint.

“Why did you kiss me?” He presses.

Dean reluctantly opens his eyes. “I…” he pauses for a silent moment before shaking his head. “No.”

“No?” Castiel repeats, sounding more confused then taken aback.

“Yeah,” Dean says firmly. “No, you don’t get to ask me… about that night.”

Because, really, it’s not like Dean owes him an explanation. Dean doesn’t owe him anything. Castiel deserves to feel the same maddening confusion that plagued Dean for the weeks following their fight in the alley.

“Why am I not allowed to ask about that night?” Castiel presses.

“Because it was two months ago. You’re too late.”

“You’re acting as if I _wanted_ to leave.”

Dean laughs shortly. “Didn’t you? I remember what you said to me. You made your contempt very clear.”

Castiel has the decency to look ashamed for once. “I didn’t mean any of the cruel things I said to you.”

“Then why’d you say them?

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know you didn’t mean it?”

“Because it was all obviously untrue,” Castiel says. “Before our fight, did I ever say or do anything to give you the impression that I didn’t care about your feelings or that I wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be?”

Dean doesn’t budge. “Why would you lie?”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was angry and confused. You’ve… you’ve never said something you didn’t mean because you were angry and confused?”

“Angry and confused about what?” The answer to Cas’s question is, of course, yes, but Dean’s feeling stubborn and refuses to give Cas even the tiniest of victories.

“About everything, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is strained and he’s staring at Dean imploringly, like he’s desperate for Dean to understand. “Do you… do you…”

“Do I what?” Dean asks impatiently. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Castiel is quiet for a moment, until finally he asks, “Do you remember that day we spent almost the entire afternoon in the school parking lot?”

Dean thinks for a minute and then nods his head. “It was near the end of November, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel purses his lips. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

Castiel's words make Dean feel strangely hollow inside. “I remember, Cas.” Dean assures him. “I didn’t feel like going to class, but it was cold and rainy so we couldn’t go up to the roof. I think we ended up spending a good three or four hours just waiting it out in the car.”

“Sitting here with you now, I’m reminded of that afternoon,” Castiel says quietly.  It was a memorable day for me.”

Dean frowns because he honestly can’t think of a reason why Cas would find hanging out in the Impala for a few hours so special. That was pretty much his entire childhood. Still, he’s reluctant to admit that he doesn’t remember that afternoon all too well.

“Good memorable or bad memorable?” Dean asks.

“Both, I suppose,” Castiel says, explaining, “That was the day I first experienced doubt.”

“Right,” Dean says, because he really has no idea what Cas is talking about. “Feel like elaborating?”

“You told me a story and…” Castiel’s voice trails off and he falters.

“Cas?” Dean’s a little concerned now.

“It’s hard to explain.” Cas takes a breath. “You were unusually pensive. We were spending so much time together that I started to notice all of these little things. You were just quieter that day and you didn’t tease me, and when you blinked sometimes you didn’t open your eyes right away. You just kept them closed. Like you didn’t need the light because you were inside your head.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean laughs uncomfortably. “This is getting _way_ too touchy feely. Didn’t I tell you no chick flick moments?”

Castiel looks away, obviously embarrassed and Dean, of course, regrets opening his mouth.

“My apologies…” Castiel says. “I wasn’t sure if I was overstepping –”

“You weren’t,” Dean cuts in. “It’s fine, man. I wasn’t serious.” He nudges Castiel with his shoulder. “Keep talking. Feel free to say whatever.”

“Alright.” Castiel smiles and it’s so forced that Dean wants to die. “If you’re certain.”

“Stop stalling.” But Dean’s incapable of being nice it would seem.

“That day, in the car, I thought something was wrong, and it made me feel this gnawing inside of my chest.” Castiel puts his hand over his heart. “It scared me,” he admits. “I was almost certain that it was an emotion and angels aren’t supposed to have emotions. They’re doorways to doubt. Up until then I could ignore what I was feeling, but this time it was too intense to deny." He breathes a shaky sigh. "And then came doubt.”

Dean frowns. “You should have told me.”

Castiel shrugs. “You had your own burdens to carry, you didn’t need the additional weight of mine.”

Dean remembers Castiel once saying that angels stumble before they fall, almost always tripping over doubt. Poor guy probably though he was the second coming of Lucifer. Dean feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. He’s almost afraid to ask.

“Is what Balthazar said true?” Dean tries to keep his voice steady. “Are you rebelling because of me?”

“My superiors don’t want to stop the apocalypse because they don’t think there’s anything about this world that’s worth saving.”

“And you disagree?”

Castiel seems to hesitate with his answer. “A world with people like you is a world worth saving,” he says finally.

"Oh." Dean swallows dryly. "Okay."

“It took a while for me to work up the resolve to rebel, but I know I’m doing the right thing.”

“Does this mean you’re… falling?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Castiel stares hard at his hands in his lap. “When I left I was forced to sever my connection to the heavenly host, and, as a result, gradually, over time, my celestial powers will fade, and eventually I will become human.” He glances back up at Dean. “I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean has to fight the urge to put an arm around him. He has to fight the urge to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, to pull him close. After all the shit Cas has pulled he deserves to feel miserable. He’s not entitled to forgiveness and Dean doesn’t owe him compassion.

But it’s _Cas_.

“Listen to me,” Dean says. “You don’t have to apologize for falling. It’s a sacrifice nobody asked you to make, but you did, and, yeah, it sucks, but that’s where we are now, and we’ll deal with it. There’s no going back, Cas. Okay?”

Castiel nods once, slowly, and asks, “Do you remember what you said to me that day in the car?”

“Honestly?” Dean breathes. “No.”

“You told me about Christmas.” He points to Dean’s necklace. “When Sam gave you that amulet. The story moved me in more ways then one.”

“How?”

“You made me question the source of my orders. I didn’t think it were possible for my father to want an apocalypse when there is still so much love among his children.”

“That’s some pretty heavy stuff, Cas,” Dean says, struggling to take it all in.

“I regret that my absence was prolonged,” Castiel says. “But it was necessary.”

“And you couldn’t send me a postcard?” Dean asks. “You know, just to let me know that you’re alive and not hating my guts?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” Castiel says. “You… you didn’t pray.”

“Seriously, dude? Because prayer worked so well the first time you up and left."

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, sounding so goddamn sincere. “I regret everything I said that night. To you, and to your brother, and to the girls. Was Sam very upset with you?”

“At first, yeah,” Dean answers honestly. “But I think he figured out that… something was up between us. He’s pretty insightful,” Dean gives Castiel a faint smile. “You know he let Jess drive the Impala home? She has a _learners permit_.”

“That’s my fault isn’t it?” Castiel shakes his head. “I should have woken you before I left, but… it was so much easier not to.”

“Sam said – ” Dean pauses and licks his dry lips. “The kid has a wild imagination, and… he thinks you were pissed about Jamie.”

“Sam’s mistaken,” Castiel replies, almost immediately. “I thought she was perfectly lovely.”

“That’s not –” Dean sighs. “He thought you were pissed at me because I’d brought her. He thinks you didn’t like seeing me with someone else.”

Sam had actually said something more along the lines of “Castiel was so jealous he could barely look the two of you.” But Dean doesn’t remember Cas acting even remotely jealous so Dean’s not about to use the J word.

Castiel, who had been looking as if he were finally starting to relax, stiffens at the accusation. “I… I knew you’d eventually seek out a female for romantic companionship, but I –"

Dean’s pager begins to vibrate and, startled, Dean nearly hits his head on the roof jumping in his seat. Castiel abruptly stops speaking, leaving Dean internally cursing at the interruption. It’s lucky that they’re parked just a few feet away from the nearest telephone booth, otherwise he’d ignore the page.

Dean doesn’t recognize the number but he recognizes the voice. Anna is on the line, and to his further dismay it would seem that several main roads are flooded, which Anna, taking her sweet time, informs him will delay her arrival by at another twenty minutes. Dean wishes that she and Cas weren’t too chicken shit to use their celestial powers, and Anna laughs when he tells her so much. Though, on the bright side, she promises that she has it on good authority that the rain would be ending soon.

“How’s Cas?” Anna asks.

“Fine,” Dean replies. “Why?” he asks suspiciously.

“I remember tearing out my grace,” she says. “Physically, the pain was excruciating. Mentally… I was very fortunate. For Cas it will be the opposite, and I’m concerned.”

Initially, Dean was very taken with Anna, but that was back when she was just an unsuspecting teenage girl with fiery red hair and a pretty face. Now that she’s an angel again… well, she’s not as bad as that awful Balthazar, but Dean still doesn’t trust her.

“Cas is fine,” Dean says. “He’s a big boy. He knows what he’s doing, and he can take care of himself.”

“No offense,” Anna says. “But I think you’re both in way over your heads.”

“Christ, Anna. You’ve had your grace back for less then twenty four hours and already you’re a know-it-all.”

"I'm just pointing out the obvious," she says. "It's not my fault you don't see it."

"See what?"

“Dean, Castiel is in love with you. Castiel is hopelessly in love with you.”

_Right._

Obviously sharing a body and a life with a sixteen-year-old girl has had a profound affect on Anna’s pysche. Castiel is _not_ in love with Dean. Cas is an angel. He’s not capable of romantic love, and if he were… Dean’s not the kind of guy Cas would fall for. Dean’s romantic relationships have all been based off of intense physical attraction. People don't fall for Dean Winchester, they just don't. 

Love is supposed to have substance. If you love someone you don’t disappear for two months without so much as a goodbye. Being separated from the person you love, regardless of the circumstances, is supposed to hurt. You’re supposed to fall apart. Sure, Cas looks a little twitchy, but he doesn’t act as if he missed Dean at all.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Dean starts, “but you’re wrong.”

“Except I’m not,” Anna says flatly. “You are.”

“What? How?”

“You need to understand that it’s not possible for Cas to know what he’s doing. What he’s doing has _never_ been done before. You can’t trust Cas to take care of himself because, to him, you’re more important. He’ll die for you if you let him.”

"Bullshit." The very thought of it makes him feel like he swallowed a shard of broken glass.

"He's given up everything else for you. What's one more thing?"

“Anna,” Dean says patiently. “You met me yesterday and you haven’t seen Cas in sixteen years. Stop pretending to know everything about us.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful?" she says after a moment. "You owe me.”

“Owe you?” Dean snorts. “For what?”

“I didn't have to help you find the gun,” Anna says. “I’m junior editor of my school newspaper and captain of the girl’s tennis team. I have other things I could be doing right now.”

“Fine,” Dean says, sighing. “Just hurry up, okay?”

“I’m leaving now,” Anna assures him. “I’ll see you soon.”

Dean expects Castiel to be eagerly awaiting the details of phone call, but he couldn’t be more wrong. The bastard has his nose stuck in a book again. He’s gone back to ignoring Dean’s existence as if they weren’t in the middle of an extremely important and necessary conversation. So much for being in love…

Dean takes a moment to look at Castiel, to _really_ look at him. He wants to know – he _needs_ to know what it is about Cas that’s making him so goddamn angry. Castiel just apologized. He admitted his faults. He took responsibility for their problems, and still Dean is angry. Castiel is (or _was_ ) his best friend, but somehow Dean feels like he’s been driving around with a stranger in the passenger seat beside him. Something’s changed and he can’t put his finger on what it is, though he’s certain it’s not _love_.

Castiel still has a weird face and stupid hair. He’s wearing the same clothes. His voice sounds the same. Dean’s pretty sure that his scent hasn’t changed either, but he’s not about to lean over and sniff the guy to find out. Still, in the confines of the car Dean can familiar heat radiating off of Castiel’s body, and remembers, vividly, what it felt like to have an angel in his bed.

And finally Dean is willing to admit what he’s known for a while now. He _likes_ the way Castiel looks and smells. He’d be disappointed if those features were to change. Dean would actually miss the awkward smiles and wide-eyed stares. He feels a little lighter inside every time he notices the really stupid way Cas’s hair curls against the nape of his neck and behind his ears. It’s not love, but sometimes he’s not so sure his heart knows the difference.

Dean kissed Cas. Dean kissed Cas because he wanted to hurt him. It’s sick and twisted and Dean hates himself for it. He would have been shocked if Castiel _hadn’t_ pushed him away.

Dean is attracted to Castiel. He knows he wasn’t imagining his own arousal, but Cas… Dean’s terrified that he was projecting his own desires onto Cas. He wanted Cas to want him so he would feel justified acting on the desire. Castiel’s violent rejection isn’t exactly compelling evidence to the contrary.

So Dean accepts his feelings for Cas. He accepts that they’re probably unrequited, and he accepts that nothing will ever come of them. He tries to forget about Cas and the way Cas made him feel. He doesn’t allow himself think about Cas making him laugh in the garage, or the quiet moments on the roof. He refuses to miss the intimacy of their friendship. Sooner or later something or someone will come along and fill the void and he’ll stop feeling so empty.

But then Castiel shows up with declarations and apologies, and Dean can’t decide whether he wants to kill him or kiss him. And maybe this isn’t the right time, but it’s all he can think about.

“If I had known you were going to be there I would have never invited her,” Dean tells him. “I probably wouldn’t even have considered it if we hadn’t been fighting.”

Castiel purses his lips and then, without looking up from his book, says, “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.” Castiel’s eyes are still glued to the pages in front of him. “I’m glad.”

Dean heaves a frustrated sigh. “Cas, man, you can’t do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“ _Seriously_?”

Castiel finally lowers the book and shifts so he’s face to face with Dean. “I’m not a mind reader,” he says.

“So you keep telling me,” Dean says. “But I know you’re not stupid either. It’s time to cut the crap and finish what you started.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “When you asked me why I kissed you what did you think my answer was going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you want my answer to be?”

“Dean…”

“Cas.”

“I think it’s stopped raining.

 

 

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean!”

If Dean had known Sam would sound this excited to hear from him he’d have called earlier. “Yeah, it’s me,” Dean says.

“Where are you?” Sam asks.

“Indiana.” Dean frowns. “Didn’t you get my note?”

Sam snorts. “You mean that napkin you left on the table? It wasn’t very informative.”

“I didn’t have a lot of information to give,” Dean tells him, somewhat sheepish. “Sorry.”

“So, Castiel came back?” Sam asks. “Is he with you now?”

“Nah, he’s inside. He keeps doing all sorts of weird shit to the motel rooms to keep demons away or something.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

There’s a beat of silence before Sam asks, “So, are you on some gay lover field trip thing?”

“What? No! Did you even read the note?”

That was the whole point in leaving a note. Dean didn’t want Sam to draw any false conclusions. Though he had foolishly believed Sam would be concerned about his safety, not his love life.

“I thought maybe that was just for Bobby’s sake,” Sam says. “I’ve been dropping hints for a while now about your sexuality and I don’t think he’d mind if you came out.”

“You’ve been – Sammy!” Dean barks. “I’m not gay! And… what do you mean by hints?”

“Oh you know…” Sam says evasively.” “Hints.”

Dean kind of wishes he had the power to reach through the phone and punch the little bastard in the face.

“If you don’t cut it out now I’m going to tell Jess about Professor Woof-Woof,” Dean says, trying to sound menacing.

“Are you guys eloping?” Sam asks. “DOMA was a mistake. One of these days they’re going to have to start legalizing gay marriage.”

Elopement? Marriage?

“Cas and I are just…” Dean growls, frustrated. “We’re not even friends! Did you even read the note?”

“I did! I have it right here in fact. _‘Sam, I didn’t want to wake you because we both know what happens when you don’t get your beauty sleep… Anyways I’m going to be gone for a few days. Cas finally showed up and there’s some business we need to take care of. Don’t worry, and I’ll call you when I get a chance. Dean.’_

“Uh huh, and where in that note does it say that I’m eloping or that Cas is my…” Dean clears his throat, “Lover.”

“Give me a break,” Sam says, and Dean can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “You’re seeing your boyfriend for the first time in months… I thought the “business” you were referring to was… you know… sex.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Dean protests.

“Alright, alright…” Sam says gently. “I’m only messing around.”

“Better be.”

“So if you and Cas aren’t on your honeymoon what _are_ you doing?”

This time Dean has his lie prepared ahead of time.

“His angel brothers are have a celestial pissing contest and he needed my help with human stuff. Nothing dangerous.”

“You should have taken me with you then!” Sam says.

“You’ve got school, Sammy,” Dean reminds him.

“So do you!” Sam argues.

“Yeah, but you actually like school,” Dean says, adding, “And you never want to go hunting with me and dad.”

“That’s because dad’s so annoying on hunts. You’re hanging out with angels!”

“It’s not as fun as it – actually, it doesn’t even _sound_ fun.” Dean shakes his head even though he knows Sam can’t see him. “It’s just motels and driving, same old, same old…”

“You and Castiel are still fighting then?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Dean says. “It’s none of your business.”

“Fiiine.” Sam sighs, because even he knows when to back down.

“Bobby’s okay? You’re not being too big of a pain?”

“No, we’re good here.”

Dean allows himself a small smile. “Awesome.”

“Dean…listen,” Sam starts hesitantly. “Dad called earlier today and asked to talk to you.”

“I have to call him anyways so don’t worry,” Dean says. “It’s not a big deal if you told him I left.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him you left,” Sam says. “I lied and said you were with a girl.”

“You lied to Dad?”

Sam laughs a little. “You’re eighteen,” he says. “Dad doesn’t need to know everything about your life. You shouldn’t let him hold you back like that.”

“Did you read that in a fortune cookie or something?” Dean says, because he’s uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. “I told Bobby he would regret taking you to that sushi place.”

“Shut up,” Sam grumbles. “He loved it. Where else are we going to practice our Japanese?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean sighs. “Well, I’ve got to go make sure Cas didn’t accidentally get blood on the curtains again.”

“Call me again soon?” Sam asks, suddenly sounding so very young.

“You got it, Sammy.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t… don’t let Dad get to you. He just… there are some things he just doesn’t understand.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 

Dean has to call John’s cell six times before he finally gets ahold of him.

“I gather your brother told you I called?” John asks.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“He said you were out with a girl. You’re being careful, right?”

Dean sighs. “You don’t have to worry about a pregnancy scare with me, Dad. Trust me on that one.”

“Good,” says John. “Glad to hear it.”

Dean hasn’t been with a girl since October and now he’s hung up on a dude. Somehow he doesn’t think his dad would be glad to hear _that._

“So, I actually called because…” Dean takes a deep breath, “I’m not at Bobby’s anymore.”

John is silent for a moment. “What do you mean you’re not at Bobby’s anymore?”

“I’m in Indiana right now,” Dean explains. “There’s some stuff I need to take care of and…”

“And you just left your brother alone?” John asks, dangerously calm.

“He’s not alone, Dad,” Dean says patiently. “He’s with Bobby.”

“You told me I could count on you. You promised you’d keep an eye on him.”

“It’s only for a few days, and he’s got Bobby looking out for him.”

“Dean, if you’re not back at Bobby’s in twelve hours, so help me god, you will suffer the consequences.”

“But this is important!”

“More important than your brother?” John demands. “You had one job, Dean. One job.”

“I’m doing this for him.” Dean says, feeling his own temper beginning to flare. “I’m doing this for everyone.”

“I don’t care about your reasons,” John snaps. “I don’t want to hear excuses. Your job is to protect your brother. That’s your only responsibly. Nothing else should matter to you. There’s nothing in your life that’s more important than your family.”

It hurts a little – the implication that Dean didn’t think twice about leaving Sam. After fourteen years of devotion you’d think he’d cut Dean a little slack. Maybe have a little faith in his judgment. Maybe trust that Dean’s not going to abandon his brother on a whim.

“Dad…”

“You let me down, Dean,” John says coldly. “You’ve disappointed me before, but never like this.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “ _You’re_ going to lecture _me_ about being a disappointment?”

“You’d better watch your mouth, boy,” John warns him.

“Sorry, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear any more backtalk out of you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, when I hang up you’re going straight back home to Bobby’s? Are we clear on that too?”

Dean hesitates. “No, we’re not,” he says. “I can’t go home yet. I need to see you. Where can we meet?”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“We should really talk,” Dean says. “I have something I need to give you.”

“Go home, Dean!” John bellows, his voice loud enough to make the receiver vibrate.

“I have the Colt, Dad,” Dean says, steeling himself. “And I’m going to find Azazel with or without you!”

The declaration is followed by a tense silence until finally John says, “Oak Hill, West Virginia, tomorrow at 4 pm we’ll meet at the Biggerson’s.” And then the line goes dead.

_Fuck_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing. Meeting Anna and restoring her grace happened off screen. This story tends to jump around and it's not particularly deep, so if something's unclear it's 100% my bad. There's some mature content ahead, but I don't know if I should up the rating. I'm not a very descriptive writer so I don't think it'll be necessary.


	6. April part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i like my body when it is with your  
> body. It is so quite a new thing.  
> Muscles better and nerves more.  
> i like your body. i like what it does,  
> i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
> of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
> -firm-smooth ness and which I will  
> again and again and again  
> kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
> i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
> of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
> over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,
> 
> and possibly i like the thrill  
> of under me you quite so new   
> e.e cummings

Dean slams the door shut behind them and takes great care to see that all of the lock and bolts are in place. He knows they provide no real protection against the supernatural entities they’re up against, but he’ll settle for the illusion of safety for now

Castiel is ignoring the newly established boundaries as if he’s never truly been able to grasp the concept of personal space. His eyes scan over Dean’s body for any signs of damage, and they widen when they reach the giant red blotches that mar the band logo on his shirt.

“Are you injured?” Castiel asks, clearly distressed by the sight.

“No…” Dean strips off the ruined shirt and examines the stains. “I think I’m okay.”

“Are you certain?” Castiel demands.

“I…” Dean pauses. There’s a giant tear stretching across the front of the shirt, but he’s not in any severe pain and doesn’t sense any wound. “Yes, I’m alright.”

“But there’s so much blood.” Castiel’s voice cracks and Dean begins to feel slightly dizzy.

“It’s not mine,” Dean tells him, unwilling to speculate as to whose blood it might be. He tries to get a hold of himself. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Castiel takes a deep breath and backs away. “That was…”

“I know, man.” Dean laughs humorlessly and crosses the motel room, heading for the sink. “I know. I’m just… I can’t believe we’re even alive.” He turns on the faucet and begins to wash the blood off of his forearms and hands. “If that’s what we’re up against then we’re screwed.”

“Next time we have to be more careful,” Dean hears Castiel say faintly.

Next time. Dean is nowhere near ready to think about a next time.

“Careful?” he echoes incredulously. “This has nothing to do with being careful. Tonight was all luck, Cas. We got lucky.” Dean grabs a bar of soap and begins to lather and scrub his skin. “This is insane. How are we supposed to fight demons and hide from angels at the same time?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of course not,” Dean mutters. “Like I said, we are so screwed.”

He turns off the water and dries his hands on his pants. He’s finally realizing the magnitude of what they’re attempting, and he’s starting to wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew. The demons they keep running into are unusually tough, and Dean can’t fight them alone, but Cas can’t seem to smite, heal, or teleport without attracting the attention of a garrison of angels. Dean’s not afraid of demons but he’s a little bit terrified of angels.

And sometimes he forgets that, for the time being at least, Castiel is one of them.

And he is a sight to behold. Dean’s impressed. Dean is very impressed. When Cas is fighting he’s almost unrecognizable as the shy, awkward loser who allegedly vomited all over himself during his presentation in English class. Instead he’s this strong, confident, badass of a soldier who looks fearless, even if he’s not. Watching Cas smite demon after demon makes Dean strangely proud, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it kinda hot.

Tonight was different. Tonight they were ambushed by angels. He hasn’t said anything to Dean, but Dean knows it hurts Cas to take up arms against his brothers and sisters. Self-defense is usually the most reconcilable justification for taking a life. Killing family members is a notable exception. Dean loves seeing Cas in action but not like this.

Anna was right when she said Dean and Cas were in over their heads. They’re both so accustomed to following orders, and now, for the first time, their plan is entirely their own. If the plan falls apart it’s up to them to pick up the pieces.

“Dean,” Castiel calls.

Dean turns around to answer but upon seeing Castiel his words falter. Cas’s eyes are unfocused and he’s shaking like a junkie in desperate need of a fix. Dean feels his heart clench. Cas is becoming more and more sensitive to emotion now that he’s cut off from heaven, but he hasn’t had any time to adjust. He hasn’t yet learned how to cope with fear and grief and despair.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Castiel nods and says, “We both made it out unharmed and that’s what’s important right now.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Maybe there is a god after all.”

“That was much too close,” Castiel says thickly. “Much, much too close.”

“C’mere,” Dean says, gesturing for Castiel to move in closer.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Castiel says, obeying and stepping forward. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“I know.” Dean reaches out and places his hands on Castiel’s upper arms. He feels the tremors and gets a strange sense of déjà vu. “You’re shaking,” he says stupidly.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says, not sounding fine at all.

“Cas…” Dean breathes.

“These feelings…” Cas starts hesitantly.

“They suck,” Dean tells him. “Trust me, I know.

Castiel furrows his brow and then stares up at Dean. “You’re scared?”

“Of course not,” Dean replies quickly. Winchester men aren’t afraid of anything. Cas should know better then to look to Dean for comfort. They’re not about to have a chick flick moment. Cas isn’t going to wrap his arms around Dean and press his face into his neck, and Dean certainly isn’t going to stand there and hold him. They’re not going to _hug._

“Oh.” Castiel says, looking embarrassed now, and making Dean feel like a jackass.

Fuck his manly pride. “The last time I was this scared was the night my mother died.”

“I…” Castiel swallows audibly. “I just didn’t know there’d be so many of them.”

“You did good,” Dean says, unconsciously rubbing Castiel’s arms.

“We got lucky,” Castiel says miserably, but at least he’s stopped shaking. “You said it yourself.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” says Dean. “And… I was just being dramatic. I don’t really think we’re going to fail. It’s just hard to be an optimist when you’re running for your life.”

“I don’t want to fail.”

“Cas, man.” Dean brings his hands to Castiel’s shoulders and squeezes gently. “If anything’s worth dying for, this is it.”

“Yes,” Castiel says thoughtfully, almost to himself. “This is it.”

And that’s pretty much all the feelings talk Dean can handle tonight. He should stop speaking now before he screws something up or starts a fight. Both he and Cas probably need few moments of silence and stillness to pull themselves together.

Because Castiel is right. What’s important right now is that they’re both alive. Dean’s pretty shattered but at least he has Cas back. He’s hesitant to let go because he doesn’t quite trust the angel not to disappear again. As if Dean has the power to stop him.

Dean releases Castiel’s shoulders and breathes a sigh. “We need booze.”

It’s what John would do. According to him, there’s nothing in this world that sooths the nerves faster than firewater.

Dean promptly turns back around and begins to search the cabinets for the bourbon he stashed earlier. It’s another lesson he learned from John. Every hunter has a fifth of whiskey and a flask of holy water hidden away somewhere.

“Dean,” Castiel call again.

“I remember seeing a bottle of Jack around here…” Dean replies distractedly, opening and shutting cabinet doors.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats.

“Ah, Jim Bean.” Dean smiles and reaches for the bottle. “My mistake.”

“ _Dean!”_

The insistence in his tone has Dean whipping back around, liquor forgotten. “ _What_?”

Castiel is in Dean’s personal space again, and the close proximity has Dean’s stomach doing somersaults. He’s _right there_ and he’s giving Dean one of _those_ looks. Jesus Christ, his glares are sexy. If he were anyone else Dean would already be trying to kiss away the anger, but this is not just anyone, this is _Cas_. Dean’s not really in the mood to get punched in the face.

And then Castiel leans in and extends his arms, pinning Dean to the counter. Dean inhales sharply. He always manages to underestimate how strongly his body reacts to having Castiel so near. Keeping his mind out of the gutter is infinitely more difficult when there are hormones involved. Especially when all he wants to do is touch Castiel and Castiel is _right there_.

“Don’t,” Castiel says sternly.

“What?” For a terrifying moment Dean thinks Castiel knows what he’s thinking, until he sees that Cas is staring at the alcohol. “Why not?” Dean asks. A shot of whisky sounds perfect right now.

“Because you act like a buffoon when you’re drunk.” Castiel says, side stepping Dean and shutting the cabinet before Dean can make another grab for the bottle.

Dean frowns. “Who said anything about getting drunk?”

“You didn’t have to say it.”

There are few things in the world that Dean finds more irksome than that condescending tone. He hates it when Castiel does his whole ‘I’m an angel of the lord and I’m too good for everything and everyone’ act. Unfortunately, it's not exactly a turn off either.

“Oh, so now you _can_ read minds?” Dean asks, glaring.

“No, you’re just utterly transparent.”

If Castiel really can read Dean so well he should know by now that snarky retorts only encourage him.

What’s the big deal, anyhow?” Dean crosses his arms and leans back against the counter. “Afraid I’m going to try to kiss you again?” he taunts.

Castiel, much to Dean’s chagrin, doesn’t take the bait. “You _are_ decidedly more irrational when you’re under the influence.”

Dean feels a stab of annoyance at this remark and says, impulsively, “I think about fucking you when I’m sober too, you know.”

Castiel turns bright red, but it’s unclear whether it’s due to anger or embarrassment. “Excuse me?”

Because what it comes down to is, at this point, Dean’s got nothing to lose. He doesn’t care if the kids at school think he’s gay. He doesn’t care if John doesn’t approve. He doesn’t have to worry about ruining a friendship (what friendship?). And in all likelihood both he and Cas will be dead by the weekend. Why shouldn’t Dean come clean?

“I think about fucking you when I’m sober,” Dean says. “You _do_ know that, don’t you?”

Castiel moves to face Dean directly, leaving an unusually large gap of space between them. It’s obvious that, despite his furious blush, Castiel is trying very hard to appear indifferent.

He narrows his eyes and says, “I know that when you’re sober you’re also quite capable of acting like a buffoon.”

“Does it bother you?” Dean asks.

“Bother me? I’ve known you for months, Dean. I’ve grown accustomed to your antics.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean tells him. “I’m asking if you’re at all bothered by the fact that I think about fucking you. Constantly.”

“I’m not bothered,” Castiel says. “Talking about sex won’t unsettle me,”

Dean furrows his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You do this every time you’re about to lose an argument. It’s cowardly and it won’t work on me anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” Dean says. “Do what?”

Castiel glowers at him. “You use my sexual inexperience to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you?” Dean stares at him, dumbfounded. “You really don’t get it do you?”

“Get what?”

“I’m coming on to you, Cas!” Dean half-shouts. “I’m hitting on you!”

Admittedly, the timing isn’t ideal, but it’s not his fault he finds an angry Cas particularly appealing. Anyone would, probably. He stands taller and looks a great deal less like a sleepy kitten. It helps Dean remember that Castiel is a lightening bolt trapped in a battery cell and can look after himself. He can be trusted not to die, and that’s a very attractive quality.

Dean is going to explain all of this to Castiel, but he no longer has Cas’s attention. At least this time he didn’t lose to a book. Dean watches in confusion as Cas rushes over to the windows and hurriedly shuts the blinds.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“Listen!” Castiel hisses. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear –” Dean starts toward Cas and then freezes. “Engines?”

Castiel nods. “Remember that biker gang we passed on our way over here?”

Dean groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “Demons?”

“I believe so.”

“Why are you freaking out?” asks Dean. “I thought you said this room was demon proof?”

“It is,” Castiel tells him. “While we’re in this room we’re safe, but I would like to avoid giving up our location, regardless. That’s why I had you park your car behind the building.”

Dean’s onboard with any plan that will help keep a gang of demons out of their hair.

“Right,” he says. “How can I help?”

“The lamp,” Castiel says, nodding towards the nightstand between the two queens.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s eliminating their only source of light until the room is blanketed by darkness and he can’t see a thing.

“Is this really necessary?” he asks.

“I believe so,” says Castiel’s disembodied voice. “Though, to be honest I think I’m experiencing some paranoia. Our close call earlier today has me a little on edge.”

“Terrific.” Dean sighs, flopping onto the bed. He’s not going to argue. The sound of roaring engines is growing louder by the second, and he’s already had enough excitement for one day.

“It’s only temporary,” the voice assures him.

Dean closes his eyes. “Of course it is.”

“I apologize,” Castiel says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean tells him.

“Okay.”

A solid minute passes before Dean asks, “What are you doing?”

“Standing,” Castiel informs him.

“Anything else?” Dean asks expectantly.

“Breathing, technically.”

Dean sighs, somewhat exasperated. “Right. Shut up and come sit down.”

Castiel doesn’t reply but a minute later Dean feels the mattress dip beside him and he knows it’s Cas. Suddenly all Dean wants to do is reach for him. He needs to know that Cas is real and alive and solid and indeed technically breathing.

But Dean’s getting to be a master at controlling the urge to put his hands on Castiel.

“May I ask you a question?” Castiel says.

“Uh, yeah…” Dean clears his throat, grateful for the distraction. “Sure.”

“When it’s dark… what specifically is it that humans fear? I know _why_ they’re afraid. I know the evolutionary purposes of their fear, but…”

Dean’s eyes begin adjusting to the lighting change and soon he’s able to make out most of Castiel’s features.

“I’m not sure,” Dean says. “I was never scared of the dark. Sammy was though. We used to take a nightlight with us to motels. I’m surprised Dad put up with it. If it were me he would have just called me a sissy and told me to get over it.”

“Your father…” Castiel starts.

Dean cuts him off and says, “He does the best he can.”

“Of course, he does,” Castiel says gently. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“I know… it’s just…” Dean falters.

“Just what?”

“Can we not talk about my dad right now?” Dean asks, a definite edge to his tone. “I don’t want to think about him.”

“We’re probably okay now,” Castiel says after a long stretch of silence. “I don’t sense any demons in the near vicinity.”

“Are you sure?” Dean questions.

“We can keep the lights off just to be safe if that would make you feel better.”

“I’m good with that.” It does make him feel better, but the sentiment has little to do with hiding from demons.

“What are you thinking about?” Castiel asks, after another lull.

Dean sighs. “My bed at Bobby’s.”

What he wouldn’t give to be back in his bed at Bobby’s. They’ve only been gone for three days, but already Dean has a yearning to return home. He hasn’t felt this way in years.

“Tired?” Castiel asks. “It is quite late…”

“Yeah.” Dean reaches for his belt buckle. “I’m taking my jeans off. I want to lie down in case we fall asleep. Are you wearing anything under your suit?”

“Shorts and a t-shirt, I believe.”

“Awesome,” Dean says. “Poor man’s pjs. Take everything else off.”

“What?” Castiel asks sharply. “Why?”

“You’ll be more comfortable when you’re in your bed,” Dean tells him. “Trust me. You can’t sleep in those clothes.”

“I don’t sleep, Dean,” Castiel reminds him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be comfortable.” Dean shrugs. “And if you’re trying to practice your human act, sleep is a good place to start.”

“But I don’t need it.”

“It’s not always about need,” Dean argues. “Part of being human is just wanting. Sleep feels good.”

“Alright.”

Dean hates sleeping in jeans so he’s anxious to kick them off before climbing into bed. He likes sleeping in undershirts, and he knows there’s a clean one somewhere in the room. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to find now that his vision has fully adjusted to the darkness, but it’s been a long day and Dean’s feeling lazy.

Wiggling out of his jeans takes just a few seconds, so Dean’s already in bed and primed for sleep before Cas has even finished taking off his trench coat.

Castiel is an adult. If he has a problem with the way Dean’s watching him undress he can tell Dean to stop and Dean will. Despite what Cas may believe, Dean’s not trying to rattle him.

He just thinks it’d be a shame not to enjoy the view.

Castiel isn’t performing. He’s not stripping. His actions aren’t obscene. And yet Dean can’t seem to look away.

Dean is fascinated by Castiel’s hands. He’s fascinated by his neck and his forearms and his jawline and his ankles – but it’s really his hands and his fingers and his wrists – just watching him gingerly loosening his necktie, and slowly, almost methodically unfastening his shirt buttons from collar to hemline. It’s not a sight he plans on forgetting any time soon.

“Is this better?” Castiel asks when he’s finally done changing. He raises his eyebrows and looks at Dean expectantly.

“Yeah.” Dean tries to smile but he can’t. He feels hollow inside and he doesn’t know why. Could Castiel possibly be any more oblivious?

 

Their beds are only a few feet apart but to Dean it might as well be miles.

Castiel’s bed squeaks every time he shifts, so naturally the kid can’t stop tossing and turning. Dean shuts his eyes tightly and tries to ignore the sound.

It’s going to be a long night.

“Cas, man, you’re killing me,” Dean warns twenty minutes later when he’s close to snapping.

“My apologies,” Castiel says. “I didn’t realize I was disturbing you.”

“Do you have bedbugs or something?” The motel is pretty seedy so he wouldn’t be surprised.

“No.”

“Then why can’t you sit still?”

“I’m… troubled.”

No shit. “Then stop thinking about whatever is bothering you or get over it.”

“Okay,” Castiel says weakly.

“Thank you.”

“Wait,” Castiel says, and Dean can hear him sitting up. “No, actually. Not okay. That’s terrible advice, and what’s worse is that you know it’s terrible advice!”

Dean groans. “What were you expecting me to say? It’s not my fault you’re a head case.”

“I know you don’t care.” Castiel says after a beat of silence. “But I guess I was expecting you to pretend.”

“Cas…” Dean sighs, feeling like complete dick. “Don’t be like that.”

“Bite me, Dean.”

Fantastic. Now he’s pissed. Dean really needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

“I’m sorry,” he tries again. “You’re right. I give terrible advice. I’m terrible at giving advice.”

“Whatever.”

Oh god. Castiel is being passive aggressive, and now Dean knows he’s screwed. Passive aggressive Sam comes off as hostile and resentful, so Dean’s never had and trouble telling him to get over himself. But passive aggressive Cas always seems a little lost and secretly sad. It makes Dean feel like a monster.

 “I care,” he tells Cas. “You know I care. I’ve always cared.”

“Save it,” Castiel says shortly. “Just go to sleep. I’ll try to be quieter.”

“No,” Dean says. “Cas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to blow you off like that. I was being an idiot. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Dean…” Castiel says, and the uncertainty in his tone is like a slap in the face. It’s like he doesn’t trust Dean not to make him feel even worse.

“Seriously, man.” Dean throws back his comforter, scoots over to the other side of the bed, and gestures for Cas to join him. “Sit,” he says, patting the empty space on the mattress. “We’ll do like we did before. Just sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean Winchester is so fucking stupid for Castiel it’s not even funny.

He doesn’t seem to understand what he’s gotten himself into until Cas is already curled up next to him, and it’s only after Cas makes this horrifyingly cute little happy noise in the back of his throat that Dean realizes he’s made a terrible mistake.

“Your bed is much warmer than mine,” Castiel comments approvingly.

“Were you, uh… cold?” Dean asks.

Castiel blinks. “Not particularly, no. Angels don’t experience the absence of heat the same way humans do, but that doesn’t mean we don’t appreciate warmth.”

“Right.” Dean’s pretty sure Castiel has had to explain this to him only about a dozen times. “So,” he clears his throat, “are you worried about angel stuff or something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s a human thing, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Your father…” Castiel purses his lips. “He’s not going to like me. He’s not going to like that you spend so much time with me.”

“There are few things in this world that my dad _does_ like,” Dean tells him. “Don’t take it personally.”

“It’s not me I’m concerned about,” Castiel says. “Your father’s approval is very important to you…”

Dean shrugs. “If he doesn’t approve of who I decide to spend my time with that’s his problem not mine.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, but Dean can tell by his tone that it’s not okay.

“Sam likes you,” he offers.

“Really?” Castiel asks. “Even after my atrocious behavior at the diner?”

“Kid’s got a heart of gold.” Dean smiles. “I think he can forgive just about anything.”

“Was this before or after you told him that I’m an angel?”

“I’m not going to apologize for that,” Dean says flatly. “I should have been honest with him from the start.”

“You’re right,” Castiel concedes. “I should be the one to apologize. It was wrong of me to ask you to lie to him.”

“Damn straight.”

“You know, Sam didn’t take any convincing,” Dean says. “The kid already believed in angels.”

“Well, Sam’s the smart one in the family, isn’t’ he?” Castiel teases.

“Hey!” Dean elbows him in the arm.

“That was supposed to be a joke.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says. “Sure it was.”

“Yes, it was.”

Dean licks his dry lips and says, “I told him that I like you and he was… encouraging.”

“You… what?”

“I explained to him that I was interested in you sexually and he was pretty cool about it.”

“You told _Sam_?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah. Problem?”

Castiel doesn’t immediately reply. “I’m just surprised.”

“Don’t be,” Dean tells him quietly.

“He was right, you know,” Castiel says after a beat of silence.

“Right about what?”

“I _was_ jealous of that girl.”

“Good.”

“You know…” Castiel starts. “I think I understand why humans are afraid of the dark.”

“Oh yeah?”

Castiel nods. “But I’ve also found that darkness makes it easier to be brave.”

Dean waits for Castiel to say more but he doesn’t. After another few minutes of silence Dean closes his eyes. Maybe this is Cas’s way of telling him to go to sleep. But that doesn’t explain why his heart is pounding. Eventually he works up the courage to open his eyes again and see if Castiel has passed out yet.

“Cas?” he whispers hoarsely, mouth having gone dry.

Castiel shifts slightly and for a moment Dean forgets to breathe. He’s so close. He’s so, so close. If he leaned in their noses would probably touch. Dean can feel Cas’s breath on his face and all he wants to do is kiss him.

Dean knows that’s not allowed, and unless he wants to make things extremely awkward for both of them he needs to calm down and stop thinking about where exactly on Cas’s body does he want to put his hands. It’s dark and quiet and if he just closes his eyes and clears his mind he should be fine. Dean can control himself

But then he feels the soft, tentative brush of Castiel’s lips against his, and time stops. Maybe Cas is not so oblivious after all.

He starts to pull away before Dean can overcome the initial shock of such a shy, innocent gesture. The last thing he wants is for Cas to feel rejected. He’ll never forgive himself if he fucks this up.

“Wait,” he whispers, lifting his hand to catch Cas by the chin. Castiel goes very still and the room is silent. They’re both holding their breath.

Dean runs his thumb over Castiel’s lips, urging them apart, before leaning in and kissing him.

It’s a good kiss. A very good kiss.

Cas’s lips are soft and his mouth is pliant and he tastes just a little bit like devotion. It’s nothing like the cheap shot Dean took in the alley. This kiss is slow and already so deep and searching, that it’s almost too intense. Despite feeling very, very warm Dean shivers.

There are few things in life that he enjoys as much as hunting monsters, driving the Impala, and eating cheeseburgers. It was really only a matter of time before he added kissing angels to that list.

Dean’s tongue slides easily past Cas’s lips and into his mouth, where it’s warm and wet and just so fucking perfect. Castiel kisses purposefully and carefully, and Dean’s not really sure what to make of that. He always assumed that if they ever got their act together whatever happened next would be desperate and frenzied.

And maybe it’s a little scary because for the first time _ever_ he feels like he has no idea what he’s doing during a moment of physical intimacy. He senses that the feeling is mutual because the hand Castiel places on Dean’s hip is trembling. It must have taken him a lot of courage to kiss Dean, and suddenly all Dean wants to do is hold him.

Cas doesn’t seem to get that when the big kiss finally happens it’s supposed to be an explosion. It’s supposed to be passionate. It’s supposed to be out of control. But Cas’s hands are still so tentative and his hold on Dean is covetous, as if Dean were something precious and breakable. No one has ever… it was never like this with anyone else. Castiel keeps kissing him like he’s made out of expensive glass, and the part Dean finds the most disturbing is how much he’s enjoying it.

Dean wraps an arm around Castiel’s torso and pulls him closer. Cas is smaller than Dean. He’s thinner and maybe a few inches shorter too, but he fits perfectly in Dean’s arms. Dean’s never noticed before now, but when he slips a hand under Castiel’s shirt and lets it wander he feels firm muscle, slightly jutted hipbones, and a surprisingly narrow waist.

He moves in even closer until his body is flush against Cas and – _fuck_ that’s an _angel_ he feels all hot and hard against his side.

When Dean pulls away it’s only because he’s pretty sure his lungs are about to burst. Breathless, he takes a moment to study Castiel’s face. It’s dark, but he can still make out Cas’s eyes, wide, staring unblinkingly at Dean, and his mouth, a thin grim line.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, leaning in again to press his lips to Castiel’s jaw.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Castiel murmurs in reply.

Dean kisses the thin skin behind Castiel’s ear. “Serious about what?”

“About wanting… “ Castiel sighs and his eyelids flutter shut as Dean’s lips descend the slope of his neck. “About wanting what you said earlier…”

“What did I say earlier?” Dean asks, his mouth now on the underside of Cas’s chin.

Castiel makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat. “You think about me.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, burying his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. Fuck Cas smells good. Castiel smells so fucking good. “I think about you a lot.”

Castiel begins nervously combing his fingers through Dean hair. “I’ve never done this before.”

Dean laughs against Castiel’s skin. “I know. It’s okay.”

“I don’t…” Cas’s hand stills. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dean asks, sitting up to get a better look at Cas’s face.

“No,” Castiel says, frowning. “This is new to me. I thought I just made that clear.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it? Your file said you preferred experienced partners.”

Yeah, if Dean’s looking to hook up with some chick he barely knows and will likely never see again, he’d prefer that she not be a virgin. Virgins can get clingy and emotional, and, well, Dean doesn’t really do emotional intimacy. He’s not boyfriend material and has virtually nothing to offer.

But this is _Cas._ Cas is different. Cas knows him. What he has with Cas now is incomparable to anything he’s experienced in the past. Can’t Cas see that this is a first for Dean too? Cas isn’t the only one who’s making it up as he goes. Dean’s still not relationship material but maybe he wants to be. Maybe he’s playing for keeps this time.

“I guess my file needs to be updated,” Dean says with an easy smile, “because right now I’m exclusively attracted to angels named Castiel.”

“I’m asking you a serious question,” Castiel says, and there’s slight edge to his tone. “I would appreciate a serious answer.”

That _was_ a serious answer.

“Alright, man, what gives?”

Because this really isn’t all that complicated. If Dean’s desire were superficial it wouldn’t have survived the past two months. It’s April now, and he hasn’t so much as kissed anyone else since October. Does he need to submit a declaration of intent? Because if that’s what it takes to make Castiel comfortable, Dean’s totally willing to give it a shot.

“I just don’t understand what you want from me,” Castiel says for like the zillionth time.

“I want you to pick up my dry cleaning,” Dean says sarcastically.

“Dry cleaning?” Castiel echoes curiously. “You have your clothes dry cleaned?”

_“Dude!_ ” Dean half-shouts. “I… can’t even” he laughs. “I want to make you come, Cas. I want to get you off.” Oh god, maybe he should try using language Cas might actually understand. “I want to give you an orgasm.”

“But…” he squints. “But why? Why do you want… that?”

“Because I like you,” Dean answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And I think it’d be hot.”

But that’s not all. Cas deserves it. He’s spent months running around in the body of a teenage boy. It just wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t get to experience sexual pleasure, and Dean wants to be the one to give it to him. He finally understands the appeal of monogamy.

And it’s not like he has anything to worry about. If this doesn’t work out there’s a good chance that they’ll be too dead to care. And if it does work out… at least they’ll die happy.

“Oh,” Castiel says softly.

“It’s a human thing. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“How soon is eventually?” Castiel asks, staring at Dean’s lips.

And Dean’s pretty sure that’s his cue to kiss him.

Castiel responds immediately but not without the now familiar cautiousness. The pace is a little slower than what Dean would prefer, and under normal circumstances this would frustrate the crap out of him, but it’s _Cas_. Christ, the guy actually whines when Dean pulls away, sounding both annoyed and disappointed. Something inside Dean snaps and suddenly he’s cradling Castiel’s head and kissing every inch of his face, and his jaw, and his neck until Cas begins to laugh and squirm.

“Stop!” he gasps. “It tickles,” he says, trying to shove Dean away. “I’m serious, Dean. You have to stop!”

Dean brings his lips to Cas’s ear and asks, lowly, “Or what?”

Castiel shivers. “Or – or I’ll… I’ll…” he stutters and his voice trails off, probably because Dean is pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck and sucking on his pulse.

“Hmm,” Dean hums against Cas’s skin. “I think eventually is right now, don’t you?”

“We have rules about tickling, remember?” Castiel says, probably glaring. “I should smite you.”

Dean nuzzles him and asks, “Is that a yes then?”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

“Good.” Consent is sexy, right?

“You know.” Castiel’s breath hitches as Dean trails his tongue across his collarbone. “I’ve… I’ve thought about this too.”

“Really?” Dean asks, looking up, intrigued. “Since when?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel mumbles. “Awhile.”

It must be getting close to dawn because the room has brightened enough for Dean to clearly Castiel’s blush. It’s cute. Dean had forgotten that Cas could be cute.

Though right now cute isn’t really what Dean has in mind.

He parts Castiel’s thighs with his knee and slides his leg in between them. “Since before or after you left?”

“After,” he says, breaths stuttering. “But… I wanted you even before then. I just didn’t understand what I was feeling. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

Dean’s not sure how to respond so he just kisses Castiel again, and again, and again, tugging at Cas’s bottom lip with his teeth and sucking on his tongue, until the way Cas is grinding against his leg becomes too much to bear.

“This is okay?” Dean asks. And he knows it’s going to be difficult to stop because Cas’s swollen lips and bedroom eyes are fucking sexy, and he can’t remember the last time he was this aroused. But he doesn’t want to pressure Cas into doing anything that would make him uncomfortable. Not only would it be a dick move, Cas would probably smite him.

Castiel shakes his head. “More,” he says. “I need more.”

Dean can do that. Dean can do more.

He wishes he realized sooner how he felt about Cas. All those moments of uncertainty – the way he invades Dean’s personal space, unconsciously seeking comfort – comfort he’s too proud to ask for, and Dean’s too proud to offer. Maybe all those times Dean felt the urge to touch him he should have, you know, touched him? Maybe Cas isn’t the only one who’s fucking oblivious.

Because the fact of the matter is that Cas is awesome. If Dean had a type, Castiel would definitely fit the bill. The guy kicks ass and looks good doing it. What more could Dean want? He doesn’t really mind that Cas is tightly wound and a little insane. Fretful Cas is kind of cute, and it gives Dean a chance to be the strong one. Up until now he’s kind of sucked at being supportive, but he’s determined to do better.

The truth about the apocalypse has been Cas’s burden for months. It’s really no wonder the kid was constantly on edge – plagued by fear and doubt while Dean was none the wiser.

And although it’s not really Dean’s fault that he didn’t know what was going on, he still feels like he has a lot to make up for. Cas deserves to be smothered with attention and affection. Dean wants to take him apart piece by piece and show him what the human body can do and feel.

Which isn’t exactly a sacrifice on Dean’s part.

He can’t remember when Castiel took his shirt off, but it’s gone and good _fucking_ riddance because Cas’s skin is hot and Dean can’t stop touching him. He could spend all night just stroking and licking and touching his skin. Castiel has lean, sinewy muscles, and the little voice that likes to remind Dean that he’s not supposed to find men’s bodies attractive finally shuts the hell up, and he’s allowed to show his admiration with his hands and his lips.

Cas’s fingers are tangled in Dean’s hair, and Dean smiles inwardly because it’s Cas’s smiting hand. He’s clinging to Dean with the same hand he uses to gank demons, and if that’s not hot then Dean doesn’t know what is.

Eventually Dean pushes Castiel gently onto his back and crawls on top of him, hovering on all fours, and straddling with his knees. The sight of Castiel under him, tousled hair and flushed skin, makes Dean acutely aware of the throbbing ache between his legs.

“When did you get to be so goddamn sexy?” Dean asks, brushing his thumb across Castiel’s cheekbone and then carding his fingers through his hair, further mussing it.

“You’re just making it messier,” Castiel protests half-heartedly, swatting at Dean’s arm.

“I know.” Dean catches Castiel’s hand and presses his lips to Cas’s palm before releasing it. “But I like it messy.”

Castiel grasps Dean by the back of his neck and pulls his face closer. “Why do you like it messy?” he asks, before stealing a kiss.

“Messy is sexier,” Dean says, collapsing onto his elbows. He could get used to this. He could really get used to having Castiel warm and solid under him, all bare skin and wet lips and blue eyes.

Castiel gives Dean a dubious look before wrapping his arms around him. “How is it sexier?”

“It makes it look like you’ve just been… fucked,” Dean says, slotting their pelvises together and rolling his hips for effect, savoring the sound of Castiel’s moan while stifling one of his own.

“This is why we wanted to wait until you were through with adolescence,” he tells Dean seriously. “You think about sex too much.”

Dean nods in agreement and responds by attacking Castiel’s mouth and thrusting his tongue past the seam of his lips. It’s a sloppy kiss, and the sounds Cas is making are nothing short of obscene, but the moment is so real and so honest that Dean can’t help feeling a little vulnerable.

Because Cas is a smug, superior, son of a bitch, and Dean kind of loves that about him. Cas wouldn’t be Cas if he weren’t a self-righteous bastard.

“You have no idea,” Dean whispers, breathless. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

A dark shadow passes over Castiel’s face. “Show me,” he says, arching his back and lifting his hips.

Dean bites back a groan. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Castiel asks curiously. “You act as though you’ve corrupted me.”

“Uh, haven’t I?”

Castiel tilts his head and stares up at Dean. “Heaven is corrupt. If I’m tainted it’s because I mistook obedience for devotion. You on the other hand…” he lowers his gaze. “You’ve humbled me.”

“Oh, come on,” Dean says. “Just admit it. I’ve led you astray. I’m the reason you’re falling from grace.”

“Did you know that humans have grace too?” Castiel asks after a beat of silence.

“Yes.”

“Really?” Castiel asks, sounding surprised.

Dean grins and then says, “No, not really.”

“Well,” Castiel says. “They do. It’s called common grace. When my father gave humankind free will… he knew you wouldn’t always make the right choices. Lucifer and his followers believed in total depravity. He believed that you were irrevocably drawn to sin and didn’t deserve salvation. God thought differently. You didn’t earn your grace but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it. I may be losing my divinity but as a human I’ll get to experience my father’s unconditional love and boundless mercy.”

That doesn’t sound like very much of a consolation prize to Dean…

Maybe it’s because he’s never felt anything for religion other than skepticism and scorn. Castiel (obviously) has a very different outlook, and sometimes Dean is embarrassed for him. Whenever Cas does the god-talk in public, Dean can’t help mentally shouting at him to shut up and stop talking. He doesn’t like hearing people calling Cas “the bible-freak’ behind his back, and doesn’t want to be deemed guilty by association.

But it’s different when Dean has Cas all to himself. He still thinks religion is bullshit, and he doesn’t really believe in a higher power. It’s just not his thing, and Cas seems to recognize that, because he’s never pushed Dean to reconsider. Cas doesn’t seem to have an agenda, so maybe that’s why Dean respects Cas’s beliefs and puts up with the sermonizing.

It’s nice, actually. If they’re discussing history or the scriptures Cas is perfectly poised and confident, but he gets kind of bashful when the subject is more abstract; when it’s stupid stuff like hope and faith. Dean teases him, of course, but they both know he loves it. The words seem to wrap around him like a thick, warm blanket on a cold day. He melts. Dean Winchester melts, and no one can ever know.

“So, does that make it okay for me to seduce you?” he asks, somewhat serious. “Pre-marital relations between a rebel angel in a dead guy’s body and some dude from Kansas – you’re telling me that’s kosher?”

Castiel shrugs. “Maybe if we stopped calling the things that bring us joy and help us bring joy to others ‘sinful’ there would be a lot less pain and suffering in the world.”

For a moment, all Dean can do is stare. “Seriously?” he says finally.

“God is love, Dean,” Castiel says.

“And I bring you joy?” Dean asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“So much joy,” Castiel whispers, smiling with his eyes.

Yes, Dean Winchester is definitely playing for keeps.

“I find you pretty tolerable too.”

Castiel gives Dean an unimpressed look and begins to caress the length of Dean’s spine with the back of his hand. “I like your body."

Dean smirks. “Do you now?”

Cas stops and draws an X on each of Dean’s shoulder blades with the tip of his index finger. “If you had wings that’s where they’d be.”

Dean shivers. “Are you trying to make me feel inadequate?” he asks, half serious.

“No.” Cas resumes stroking Dean’s back. “I prefer you without them. You’re very attractive. I didn’t notice at first because I was unfamiliar with your kind’s beauty standards. I just knew I liked being close to you. ”

“Cas, you are the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Dean tells him. “Hands down, the weirdest.”

“You used to say that a lot too.”

Dean gives a tiny shrug. “I was probably flirting with you then.”

“I would never have guessed that.” Cas blinks. “I thought… most of the time I didn’t know what to think. During my period of intense observation… it seems foolish now, but at the time I actually thought I understood you.”

“Foolish, huh?” Amused, Dean kisses his temple and ruffles his hair a bit more.

Castiel smiles and tries to duck out of Dean’s reach. “Quite,” he says. “When you first began to desire my company I was pleased because I knew my superiors would be pleased. They… they wanted me to be in a position where I could… ah, influence you in addition to keeping you out of harm’s reach.”

Dean starts to feel cold inside. He doesn’t want to hear this but he can’t resist asking, “So, you didn’t actually like me?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admits. “I was in denial about having emotions, and I tried so hard not to feel anything at all. As I became more self-aware I realized that I felt a great deal of affection for you, but whenever I expressed the sentiment you seemed uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

“If…” Dean starts uncertainly, “if you had known I was into you would you still have left?”

The tiny smile fades and Castiel looks away. “Yes,” he replies. “Leaving would have been necessary, regardless.”

And though Dean knows that this is probably true, it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. He doesn’t know if he can trust Cas not to disappear again, and that pisses him off. It makes him feel like he has something to prove. They’re not just two regular teenage boys. Cas isn’t even human. He’s a celestial killing machine, and if the circumstances were different and if Dean weren’t a little bit infatuated, he’d probably treat Cas the same way he treats every other non-human creature.

Maybe that’s why the hunter in Dean wants to dominate him; wants it to be sinful. The texture of Cas’s skin under him, just beginning to sweat, their bodies pressed together – Dean can feel every beat of Castiel’s jackrabbit heart pounding against his chest. If Castiel is prey he’s Dean’s most dangerous yet.

Dean’s jaw clenches and he inhales deeply through his nostrils and lets the breath out slowly. “Would you have at least said goodbye?” he asks.

“Dean…” Castiel sighs. “You must understand.”

“Understand what?” This is the part where Cas plays dumb and tells Dean that he had no idea Dean would even want him to say goodbye.

“I was angry,” Castiel replies. “I wanted to hurt you.”

Dean snarls. “You did it on _purpose_?”

“It’s not as if my anger were unfounded,” Cas says, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Dean says before rolling off of him and sitting up.

Castiel sits up too, scooting back until his back touches the headboard, putting as much distance between him and Dean as possible. It must be dawn, because the room has brightened considerably since they first got into bed, and Dean has no trouble seeing Castiel’s scowl.

“You told me to trust you and I did.” Castiel draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. “If I recall correctly, you left first.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean growls. “You’re an angel, for Christ’s sake. You shouldn’t need me to hold your hand. And if _I_ recall correctly, you told me I could trust you too.” He shakes his head. “I prayed to you. I fucking prayed. Do you know how often I _pray_?”

“I had never asked you for _anything_ ,” Castiel says, gritting his teeth. “I know I’m an angel. I know how powerful I am because if I weren’t you’d be dead. It was embarrassing enough to have to admit my fear, but I wasn’t going to quit just because I was afraid, especially after you told me that you’d be there. I don’t like having to ask for help any more than you do, but I did.”

Dean feels a sharp stab of guilt but he’s won’t give in that easily. “Sorry for having faith in your ability to get over it,” he says sarcastically.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Castiel demands. “What was so important?”

Fuck. _Fuck_. “Does it really even matter at this point?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t significant,” Castiel says.

What is he supposed to say? He can’t tell Cas that he bailed because of his inopportune, big gay crisis, but he doesn’t have any other excuse, and the Sam-like voice in his head thinks he at least owes Cas an explanation.

“I overheard some girls talking… before then I didn’t know about the rumors.”

Castiel frowns. “What rumors?”

“The entire school thinks we were sneaking out of class together to go bone in the janitor’s closet or something.” Dean rubs his face with his hands and then says, “I was already having these weird feelings about you that I wasn’t ready to deal with. It was a little overwhelming.”

“If you knew you liked me why did you invite that girl to dinner? If you liked me why were you touching her and making innuendos? Why did you get drunk and start a fight?”

“I already told you that if I had known you were going to be there I wouldn’t have invited her,” Dean says. “But then you showed up and you were acting like a dick and I was just beginning to realize how fucked him this whole destiny bullshit was and I guess I snapped.”

Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I was unprepared to see you fawning over someone else. I didn’t know if the behavior was intended to upset me but I assumed that you would at least notice my discomfort. You… you started touching me in the restaurant after she left.”

“Oh my god.” Humiliated, Dean feels his face reddening. “I had totally forgotten about that. I shouldn’t have… I was way out of line.” He remembers now, clearly, the look of disgust on Castiel’s face. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I was angry mostly because I liked the attention,” Castiel confesses. “Your hand…” he swallows, “it felt good and it made me want something I assumed you had no intention of giving. When you kissed me in the alley I thought you were mocking me.”

“I wasn’t,” Dean tells him, though it wasn’t exactly a declaration of his undying love either. “I wanted you in a bad way that night.”

Castiel opens his eyes. “I know that now,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I’m trying to make things right but it’s difficult.”

“You’re sorry?” Dean laughs bitterly. “It’s the apocalypse, Cas. You need a bigger word than sorry.”

“What more would you have me do?” Castiel asks, his tone betraying his frustration. “I rebelled. I’m being hunted. I’m falling from grace. I’m killing my brothers and sisters to protect you. I’m breaking all of the rules to ensure that you and your brother won’t have to suffer. I’m helping your father find and exact vengeance on the demon that murdered your mother. What more can I possibly do?”

For a moment Dean just stares at him, stunned, until finally he shakes his head. “Nothing, Cas,” he tells him, because it’s the truth. “There’s nothing else.”

“Then what do you want from me?” he demands. “I’ve given you everything that I have!”

This isn’t about Castiel; this is about Dean. Yes, Castiel lied and messed with Dean’s head, but that’s not what Dean’s truly upset about. Deep down he’s not angry; he’s scared. If Castiel pulls another disappearing act Dean will be crushed.

No one has ever sacrificed so much for him. It’s still difficult for Dean to accept that he’s the reason Cas is doing all of this. Maybe it’s about time Dean gave Castiel something in return. This whole ordeal is a giant shitshow, but that doesn’t mean it has to ruin whatever this other thing is that’s made Cas believe Dean’s worth it.

“I know.” Dean sighs. “You’ve… you’ve been…” he falters and sighs again. This is when he’s supposed to say something sweet, but his pride won’t let him. Cas is a dude. Dudes don’t say mushy shit to other dudes.

“I’ve been what, Dean?” Castiel asks evenly. “What now?”

“Just… lie back down,” Dean orders.

“Why?” Castiel says, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Dean runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Because you look a little pathetic right now and it’s kind of making me feel like shit, okay?”

“Good.”

“You drive me crazy,” Dean says. “You’re driving me insane.”

Castiel fixes him with a withering stare. “Is there anything you _won’t_ blame me for?”

Dean needs to figure out a way to explain himself, and he needs to do it fast, because Cas is obviously running a little short on patience. This may be his last chance to salvage their relationship. He won’t blow it. He can’t.

“Listen…” Dean takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I’m no good at apologies, so instead I’m just going to tell you exactly how you screwed up.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to sit here and listen to you catalogue my failures.”

Dean growls, frustrated, and says, “You left – _twice._ You left knowing… knowing…” he runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave people like that, okay? I know you had your reasons, and I know you’re trying to do the right thing now, but…”

“Be honest,” Castiel says. “Are you ever going to forgive me? If you don’t think you can, I deserve to know now.”

Dean stares at him. “ _Dude_ … of course I’m going to forgive you! I’m just going to need more then a day or two days to get over it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“But how do you know?”

Dean laughs shortly and says, “Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of crazy about you.”

Even if he wanted to stay pissed at Cas he knows it’d be impossible. 

“Are we going to be okay?” Castiel asks in a small voice.

“Do you forgive me for bailing on you in English Class?” Dean asks.

Castiel seems to deflate a little before nodding his head. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“I still feel awful about it,” Dean admits.

“Don’t,” Castiel tells him. “What’s done is done. It actually seems pretty trivial in the long run.”

“But isn’t that what started all of this?”

“Maybe,” Castiel says. “But, truthfully, I think I was lost the moment I drank from your flask back in September. That was our original sin, so to speak.”

“I thought you said I wasn’t corrupting you. Now you’re telling me I was the snake?”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, would it surprise you to know that the story of Adam and Eve printed in your bibles is a falsification used to justify male domination?”

“Nothing surprises me these days,” Dean says tiredly. “What really happened then?”

“First understand that my father loved Adam and Eve dearly, and he kept them in the garden for their own protection. Eating the fruit that hung from The Tree of Knowledge was not forbidden, just discouraged. God warned Adam and Eve that if they ate the fruit they would be forced to leave paradise. Adam was content in paradise, and Eve, while she was not discontent, she was… curious.”

“What about the snake?”

“The so-called “serpent” was not a snake. It was the seraph, Raziel. Raziel was one of the few celestial beings to visit Adam and Eve in the garden. When Eve had questions she took them to Raziel, but there was only so much he could teach her because, well, she was…”

“Stupid?” Dean offers.

Castiel nods. “Raziel told her that if she wanted to know more she’d have to eat the fruit.”

“Which meant getting kicked out of the garden.”

“No, Dean,” Castiel sighs. “They didn’t get ‘kicked out.’ They _chose_ to leave. Eve wanted knowledge, and leaving the garden wasn’t a punishment, it was simply a consequence. The garden was… metaphorical.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“Exactly.”

“So... if Adam was happy why did he eat too?”

Castiel seems to consider Dean for a long moment before he says, “Because Adam wanted to be with Eve.”

“Oh,” Dean says.

“Dean?”

“Mm?”

“You’re not the snake.

“Yeah?” Dean wants to smile and make a witty remark but nothing comes to mind. Instead he just swallows and says, “Just lie back and relax then, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel agrees.

And he does, almost. Castiel slowly unfolds himself and resumes his earlier position, his lithe body stretched vertically across the mattress, and his head resting on two lumpy pillows. He looks anything but relaxed.

Dean stares at him for a moment. Watching Cas fidget and shift uncomfortably is making him nervous. It feels different now. It feels much more real. They’re not just two kids fooling around in the dark anymore. It’s no longer just about wanting and needing and being brave.

Shit. And Cas has his head tilted and he’s looking back at Dean as if he can see down into his soul. Dean’s discovering that one of the downsides to hooking up with an angel is that now he has to feel self conscious about the state of his soul.

“Everything alright?” Dean asks a little uncertainly.

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I believe so.” His brow begins to furrow. “Have you changed your – ”

“No!” Dean says, immediately cutting him off. “No way, man. Don’t… don’t even think like that. I wouldn’t…” Dean shakes his head because he totally would, just… “Not to you.”

“Okay,” Castiel says, looking slightly surer of himself now. “Then kiss me again.” He extends a hand to Dean. “Like before.”

Dean takes the hand and laces their fingers together, hoping that Cas will ignore the way his palms are sweating just as he’s ignoring the way Cas is shaking. He crawls back on top of Cas, straddling him again, taking a several long moments to appreciate the contours of his lean abdominal muscles and boney hips by brushing his lips against all the heated skin his mouth can reach without having to let go of Cas’s hand. And when he does finally kiss him, when his lips finally make it up his chest, neck, and jaw without any gratuitous detours, it’s not at all like before.

Castiel is practically growling into his mouth, and then suddenly he’s clinging to Dean, desperate and hungry – and _Jesus_ all Dean wants to do is _devour_ him. Their bodies are melting together, just increasingly hot and sweaty skin against skin, and Dean’s so hard he can’t believe his brain still functions, because it’s getting more and more difficult to think about anything other than fucking Cas into the mattress, though it’s extremely unlikely they’ll even make it that far, especially with the way Castiel keeps moving his hips.

Dean is fantastic in bed, and he takes a great deal of pride in his skill, so if he’s not every bit as awesome at gay sex as he is at straight sex – he’s not sure his life would be worth living.

But honestly right now he’s panicking a little bit.

Cas is not holding back. He’s so focused and intent on kissing the breath out of Dean that he probably doesn’t realize that the possessive hand he has resting on Dean’s back is applying just enough pressure to keep their pelvises firmly joined. And Dean’s freaking out because Cas is wrapping his legs around him and has started thrusting and fuck, fuck, _fuck_ that’s Cas’s erection grinding against cock, and it feels way, _way_ too fucking good.

If Dean comes in his shorts like a freakin’ virgin it might as well be the end of the world.

He pulls away from a kiss that’s lapsed into all tongue and very little lips, because he wants to shift his focus below the waist and he’d appreciate some cooperation.

“Hey,” he murmurs against Castiel’s ear. “Relax for a second, would you?”

Castiel begins to nod but then quickly shakes his head. “I don’t want to relax,” he says lowly, and fuck him for managing to make even petulance sexy. “Just because you’ve done this before doesn’t mean you get to order me around.”

Maybe it’s because Cas is a dude, and Dean is naturally competitive. Or maybe it’s because he can’t stand the thought of Cas being smarter and stronger _and_ better in bed. He’s always choosing books over Dean and giving him shit for thinking about sex and just– this is one battle Dean’s not going to lose.

“Order you around, huh?” He presses a kiss to the bridge of Castiel’s nose and smiles down on him. “Let’s save that for another night.”

“Don’t get too comfortable to being in charge,” Castiel warns him with narrowed eyes. “Once I gain more experience I’ll be on top. _You’ll_ have to follow _my_ lead.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean stifles a laugh and begins toying with the waistband of Castiel’s boxers. “You gonna wrestle me for it next time?”

“That wouldn’t be very fair,” Castiel says. “We both know I’m stronger. I’m smarter too. I don’t know why I’m letting you call the shots. You haven’t actually done anything that might require special skills or experience.”

“Cas, how much do you know about oral sex?”

That shuts him up real quick.

Whether or not Castiel’s challenge was intentional doesn’t matter. This is something Dean wants to do and he's not about to let what may be his only opportunity go to waste.

But he's a little nervous, so he takes his time kissing his way down Castiel’s chest. At first he assumes he’s tense because, up until a couple of months ago, he was straighter than an arrow. Now he finds himself about to voluntarily suck another dude’s cock, and that’s _really_ gay, like point of no return gay, so this would be the right time for a sexual identity crisis.

Only... Dean has long stopped caring about his sexual orientation. Labels, in general, are stupid and he wasn’t offended when Sam called him bisexual. It doesn’t matter if he prefers men or women because right now all he wants is Cas. He doesn’t care about what other people think; he cares about what Cas thinks.

Dean’s freaking out because he wants to do a good job. It’s not like Cas has anything to compare it to, which should lessen the pressure except it doesn’t. What if Dean messes up somehow and ruins Castiel’s very first orgasm? Cas would hate him. Hell, Dean would hate himself.

He stops when his mouth reaches the patch of skin between Cas’s navel and his boxers.

Dean glances up at Cas to make sure he’s still with him, because he’s being unusually quiet. Castiel’s eyes are wide and his pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed and he’s staring at Dean almost reverently, as if Dean’s about to perform some kind of miracle. He’s never felt so… wanted. It’s encouraging and Dean finds himself relaxing because of course he’s going to be awesome.

“Can… can I watch?” Castiel asks hesitantly. “I want to know how…so I can…for next time…”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Dean tells him, because what the hell else is he supposed to say?

So Cas sits up and rests his back against the pillows while Dean gives himself another mental pep talk. He stops worrying about looking as if he’s nonchalant about the whole thing because Cas is starting to look a little flighty and Dean feels the overwhelming need to be reassuring. If he’s about to put his mouth on Cas’s dick the least the guy can do is go back to looking at him like he's the best ever.

Dean bends down and kisses both of Castiel’s hipbones before sliding Cas’s shorts off and carelessly tossing them over his shoulder.

Dean wants Cas. He wants him more than he’s allowed himself to want anything in a very long time. That’s probably why he’s taking so much pleasure in spreading Cas’s legs and kissing his inner thighs. The desire pooling hot in his lower belly is to be expected, but he’s also feeling a strange giddiness. Physically it’s as if his body is becoming increasingly buoyant and weightless. Castiel seems to be enjoying it too. Dean can feel Cas’s muscles tensing under his lips as he makes his way closer to the apex of Castiel’s thighs.

“Please,” he hears Castiel whisper hoarsely.

Dean looks up and offers a small smile. “Relax,” he tells Castiel for the umpteenth time as he closes a fist around Castiel’s erection, his smile widening at Castiel’s sharp intake of breath. “We’re getting to the good part.”

“O-okay,” Castiel says, hips bucking when Dean tightens his grip and gently tugs.

He’s surprised by how much fun he’s having. But then again who wouldn’t get a thrill out of turning haughty, virginal, celestial killing machine into a quivering mess? So, after a few more tentative strokes, when Dean finally puts his mouth around Castiel’s cock, he’s more than happy to do it.

But not as happy as Castiel it would seem. Dean has to hold him down by the hips to keep him from thrusting into Dean’s mouth, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the enthusiastic reaction. The low groan he drags out of Cas when he licks the underside of his cock with a flat tongue is pretty effective encouragement too.

Dean’s no expert in art of giving head, but at this point he feels pretty confident that he knows what he’s doing. It also helps that Castiel is kind of noisy, because it’s not like Dean can just ask, ‘Cas, do you like it like this? ‘More tongue, Cas?’ or ‘Should I suck harder?’ and he can’t say, ‘Tell me what you want’ or ‘Tell me how you want it’ so noise is his only real guidance. And frankly, Dean doesn’t care if they’re disturbing their neighbors.

He likes seeing and hearing Cas’s reaction more than he likes having to do any actual work, but that doesn’t mean he’s not getting off on it. The satisfaction runs even deeper then what he feels physically. It excites him, having Cas, hot and hard and thick and so goddamn eager in his mouth. Maybe the best part about the whole experiences is that it’s not supernatural. What they’re doing and what they’re feeling is entirely human.

Dean keeps one hand wrapped around the base of Castiel’s cock, and when his shaft is slick with saliva from Dean’s sloppy tongue he begins to pump slowly, matching the rhythm of his own bobbing head. It’s perfect. It’s just what he needs. It’s what they both need.

Castiel seems to be reveling in all the attention Dean’s giving him. He’s been consuming Dean’s world since the day they met, but never like this. Dean wonders if Castiel has ever imagined Dean this way. He wonders if Cas ever closes his eyes and imagines Dean kneeling between his legs and sucking him off. Dean would ask if his mouth weren’t busy, because he’d really like to know.

Dean suspects that Castiel won’t last much longer. He’s sensitive and receptive in a way Dean didn’t think was possible. Maybe it’s because there’s no script for this. Neither of them know how to play their roles so they react naturally. It’s pure and real and Castiel responds shamelessly to every lick and stroke. Dean feels like a saint for his patience because he hasn’t so much as touched his own erection and Christ he’s so hard it _hurts_.

Castiel is a fucking mess. He’s gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles are white, and, naturally, the sound of him whining and keening goes straight to Dean’s dick. Dean almost loses it when realizes Cas is fucking _moaning his name_.

And that’s when Dean just stops thinking and starts sucking like it’s his life calling. He stops holding Cas still and lets his hips cant upwards because why the hell not? Dean’s got enough control. All he has to do is swirl his tongue around the head of Castiel’s cock, and Cas is so powerless he might as well be human. Dean on the other hand feels like he’s turning into something else entirely. There are beads of sweat rolling down Dean’s spine because he’s somehow become the embodiment of heat and he can hear his pulse pounding in his ears because he’s on the verge of combustion.

Cas was essentially leaking when Dean first wrapped his mouth around him, and Dean finds that he doesn’t mind the taste as much as he thought he would. There are more important things on his mind. He’s too busy discovering how to make the best use of his tongue and watching Castiel’s reaction to the glide of Dean’s wet lips up and down his shaft.  

And when Castiel starts calling his name more urgently Dean increases the pressure of his sucking and pumps faster. He’s dimly aware of Castiel straightening up and leaning forward, only truly noticing when he feels Cas’s fingers threading through his hair. Cas is gripping tightly but pulling lightly and Dean is doesn’t realize by how sexy he finds it until he hears himself moan.

“Dean!” Castiel calls, sounding way too upset for a guy who’s in the middle having his dick sucked.

Dean’s legitimately concerned by the slight panic in Cas’s tone so he gives in to the helpless tugging and allows Cas to pull his head up, freeing his mouth and allowing him reply.

“Sup, Cas?” Dean asks, wiping his mouth with his wrist and letting an expert hand replace his lips and tongue. He’s feeling pretty damn proud of himself because Cas is totally losing it. Castiel, mighty (fine) angel of the lord, doesn’t even look this wrecked when he’s outnumbered and surrounded by a hoards of demons. Dean’s ego is _loving_ this.

“I didn’t…” Castiel croaks. “I don’t…”

Figures Cas would have trouble appreciating a job well done.

“Hey,” Dean says, sitting up and scooting closer. “It’s cool, man.” He stops pumping, wipes his hands on the comforter, and then starts to rub Castiel’s thighs. “You okay?”

So, yeah, Dean can see how Cas might find totally losing it a little disconcerting. The poor guy has zero experience, and the past twenty-four hours have been extremely emotionally and physically taxing. This is probably a lot to handle, especially for someone who’s extremely sensitive and a totally clueless. Dean gets lightheaded just thinking about everything they’ve been through tonight.

“I can’t…” Castiel tries again, words dying in his throat. “I’ve never…”

“Cas,” Dean says firmly.  “Cas, you’re going to like this. I promise.” He wants to comfort him, but he doesn’t know how to give him the reassurance he needs without ruining the mood. Acting on instinct, he shifts and repositions his legs so he can lessen the distance between them.

Castiel stares at him, his eyes are wild and so fucking blue. Dean feels his chest get tight and his heart clench, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. It feels so good to just feel so much, but it’s becoming impossible to deny that this all means something. As much fun as it is to watch Cas writhe and moan in pleasure, Dean has other desires making him ache in places that aren’t below the belt.

“It’s…” Castiel’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Please, Dean. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

He’s not supposed to do anything but sit back and enjoy the show. Dean’s the one doing all the work. He just doesn’t get why Cas is making such a huge deal out of a mediocre blowjob. It’s driving Dean crazy but – fuck it, he _really_ likes Cas.

“Listen,” Dean says, “this is not something you can fail. You just have to stop thinking so much.”

“Okay,” Castiel says.

“Hold on to me,” Dean orders, and Cas obeys, wrapping his arms loosely around Dean’s neck.

Castiel lets out a long, ragged breath and asks, “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s hands travel up Castiel’s thighs, past his hips, and stop at his waist. “Just like that,” Dean says, gently stroking. He really hopes Cas finds this soothing because it’s all he’s got. “Just like that,” he says again. “You’re perfect, Cas.”

“But Dean…” Castiel whines. “I still don’t…”

“It’s fine,” Dean says, shushing him. “All you need to do is relax and leave the rest to me.”

“ _Please_.” Cas leans in to rest his forehead on Dean’s collarbone. His skin is feverish, and Dean can feel him perspiring. He’s pretty sure that this is the first time that Cas has ever broken a sweat.

Dean has one hand on Castiel’s waist, holding him steady, while his other hand is wrapped around Cas’s cock, doing whatever it takes to coax an orgasm out of him. Cas is panting hot and humid against Dean’s skin, and between gasps he’s whimpering Dean’s name, and Dean’s shaking and he can’t help it because Cas is unbearably sexy, and because it’s so intense he can hardly think straight.

How did this happen? How the fuck did this even happen?

Dean’s whispering god knows what into Castiel’s damp hair when Cas finally comes.

Afterwards Cas goes limp and collapses, his back hitting the mattress with a gentle thud.

“See?” Dean says, his voice is so husky he almost doesn’t recognize it. “Next time have a little more faith in me.”

“I…” Castiel lets out a shaky breath. “I understand why your thoughts so frequently turn to sex now.”

“Yeah?” Dean falls to his hands and knees and crawls over to Cas. “Am I the best or what?”

“Maybe,” Castiel breathes.

“ _Maybe_?” Dean repeats, slightly outraged. “What the hell do you mean _maybe_?”

Castiel smiles and reaches for Dean. “I might be better.”

And then he and Cas are kissing again. Cas is licking into his mouth so confidently and unflinchingly, as if it weren’t just twelve seconds ago that he was needy and weak and thrusting into Dean’s hand. Where does he even find the energy? Dean feels like they’ve been at this for hours and he’s on the verge of suffering from the worst case of blue-balls in human history.

But when Cas pulls down Dean’s boxers and starts to touch him it feels like absolution. He doesn’t register much more than that. All he knows is that suddenly everything is Cas, and he’s not sure his heart can handle it. Cas’s hand is clumsy and a little clammy and so much softer than his own, and when he’s not violating Dean’s mouth with brutal kisses, he’s licking and nuzzling his neck like a goddamn animal.

When Dean comes the orgasm rips through him like an electric surge and the pleasure is so bright it’s almost blinding. When Dean comes Dean comes _hard_.

 

 

Castiel cleans up. The guy must have superhuman stamina because Dean on the other hand feels completely boneless and can’t bring himself to move a muscle. Luckily it doesn’t take him too long to regain the ability to form coherent sentences.

“Wanna know the awesome thing about having two beds?” Dean asks him.

“Yes,” Castiel says, emerging from the bathroom. “Please tell me the awesome thing about having two beds.”

“Neither of us has to sleep on the wet spot.”

Castiel gives him an unreadable look. “I don’t sleep, Dean,” he says. “And it’s morning now.”

“Right,” Dean says, feeling awkward and a little embarrassed for assuming Cas would be following him into bed again. “But we still have a few hours before we have to hit the road again, and I’m exhausted. You can entertain yourself, can’t you? It’s cool if you wanna watch the TV on mute or something…”

“I…” Castiel hesitates for a moment. “I would very much like to join you, if that’s alright. I promise I won’t disrupt your sleep.”

Thank god.

Dean shrugs, feigning indifference. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Once they’re in bed Cas doesn’t waste any time sidling up next to Dean and resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how Cas can go from shy to shameless in the blink of an eye, but it’s worked well for both of them, so he’s not going to question it. And maybe Dean should be disturbed by the rush of affection he feels when Cas presses a chaste, lingering kiss to his skin but he’s not. Not at all.

“Dean?” Castiel whispers.

“Hmm?” Dean replies, blinking sleepily.

“Do you remember the night we fought those demons at the gas station?”

Dean smiles. “How could I forget?”

“Do you remember what I said to you?” Castiel asks.

“I remember you saying a lot of things.” Dean yawns. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I told you that I didn’t like you and that I would let Alistair torture you.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean says, closing his eyes. “You were kind of a dick.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Castiel says. “I didn’t realize until later when I became more familiar with emotions but… I was so scared when I saw him taking you away.”

That night seems as if it were a million and one years ago, but there are some things in life you don’t ever forget. Near death experiences usually make the cut.

“You didn’t sound scared,” Dean tells him.

“I didn’t?” Castiel asks curiously.

“You sounded angry.” Dean smirks. “It was pretty hot.”

Castiel snuggles closer and sighs. “Human attraction is a mystery to me.”

“Yeah?” Dean knows he should be pushing Cas away, but lying together like this feels much too good. “When are you most attracted to me?” he asks.

Castiel is quiet for a moment and then says, “When you’re nice to me.”

“Oh.” Dean’s not sure how to reply because as far as he knows he’s never been particularly nice to Cas.

“Like right now,” Castiel says. “This is quite nice.”

Oh, shit. It _is_ nice. It’s too nice. It’s Nikolas Sparks movie nice. Dean suddenly has no idea what he’s doing and no idea how he got here.

What if Cas has expectations? What if he wants Dean to be all touchy-feely when they’re not fooling around? What if he wants to hold hands and hug and call each other pet names? What if he wants to go on dates?

Fuck it. Cas doesn’t know enough about humanity to have expectations, and, truthfully, dates might be fun and Dean’s never really minded hugs. Cas is so clueless that he probably has no idea that real men aren’t supposed to cuddle, which makes it perfectly acceptable for Dean not to push him away.

It _is_ nice and Dean deserves to have something nice once in a while.

“Remember that night we talked in my room?” Dean asks.

Castiel sighs again. “I am a celestial being, Dean. My memory is infallible.”

For now at least. Neither of them really know how much of his power he’ll lose, or how quickly he’ll lose it. Dean knows it’ll be rough so he’ll let the comment slide.

“I realized that night…” Dean yawns again. “That was the first time I ever thought about kissing you.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, and when he blinks his eyelashes tickle Dean’s skin. “I didn’t know that.”

Dean shivers and asks, cautiously, “What would you have done if I had gone for it?”

“I felt very close to you that night,” Castiel says. “I would have happily given you anything you asked for.” He hesitates then adds, “But I’m glad we waited, otherwise this wouldn’t have been as special.”

“You’re weird,” Dean says, turning to face Cas and giving in to the overwhelming urge to kiss him again, all soft and sleepy.

Castiel breaks the kiss after a minute or two but doesn’t pull away. “I know,” he says quietly. He nuzzles Dean’s jaw and adds, “But you are too.”

So then Dean allows himself to wrap his arms around Cas, steal his warmth, and breathe in his scent. “I like the way you smell,” he mumbles against Cas’s skin.

“Do you?” Cas asks.

It’s the last thing either of them say before Dean falls asleep holding Castiel tightly to his chest.

Because why the hell not?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I've already said this, but I want to reiterate... I make up all of the bible stuff. I'm not giving my personal opinion or anything like that. I had a super religious upbringing so I'm not squeamish when it comes to writing about it, but that's really not me. At all.   
> Also, if anyone thinks I should change the rating let me know. Writing detailed descriptions of actions or objects is not my thing, so I don't consider this particularly graphic. And it was so sickeningly sweet that I wouldn't call it raunchy either. But I can accept being wrong.  
> I went away for a week so I didn't get to work on this chapter as much as I would have liked to but I've been dying to do the cute so here it is!


End file.
